


The Things We Lost in the Fire

by BlueHedgehog, Verdin



Series: This Too Shall Pass [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Chronic Pain, Consent Issues, Cults, Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Eating Disorders, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Memory Alteration, On the up side: this features a dog, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Poor Cor, Poor Iris, Poor Prompto, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Rape Recovery, Repressed Memories, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags Contain Spoilers, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 53,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11669223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueHedgehog/pseuds/BlueHedgehog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: Close encounters with Ardyn Izunia tend to leave wounds that don't heal easily. Cor is still bleeding after years. Prompto's are fresh and barely covered by Shiva's divine mercy. Iris cannot stop picking at hers.Healing would be so much easier if it was straightforward, or the only thing to do, or if the powers that be kept their hands to themselves. But the world is in shambles, and there are daemons to kill, cults to dismantle, relationships to figure out. In times like these, all you can do is try your best, rely on each other - and maybe ask Weskham for another drink.(Set directly after "A Tale of Cautionary Tales," but it's not required reading, and neither is the rest of the series. Everyone in this story is just as confused as you are.)





	1. In which things begin

Prompto remembered what he had forgotten when he hit the diner.

The meeting. He had completely messed up meeting Ignis and Gladio yesterday, taken too much time out on that wild-goose chase of a hunt. He would have to make it up to them, or at least make sure they knew he had come back. Half the purpose of those meetings was making sure the others hadn't been torn to bits in the meanwhile.

He also came to another conclusion: He didn't want coffee. Whatever they were brewing up this morning smelled vile. Other than that, the diner was very much _as always_. They took great care that it was. Ignis was there, also as always, having one of the girls reading him a book, correcting her now and then when she was mispronouncing a word. Over in the corner a face he hadn't seen in a while, bitter and vile like the cup of coffee it stared into. Cor Leonis usually was out hunting alone. The last time Prompto had seen him, Cindy had shouted at him, asked him if he was mad, if he was longing for death. He had just looked at her with tired eyes.

“Good morn' Prom!” Takka announced, and Ignis turned his head towards the door, nodded. A short smile. He didn't seem too put out about the missed meeting.

“Hey, Iggy. Linda! Morning, Takka!” Prompto beamed at him and sat at the counter. He lifted his hand to wave at Cor as well, but thought better of it at the last second. He looked like he wanted to be left alone, and like he was very much in the mood to enforce that physically. _Yikes._

“The usual?” Takka asked. It was a joke, more or less. There hadn't been anything like a menu for the better part of a year. ‘The usual’ was whatever was available in terms of rations, and whatever hot drink he could provide.

“I'll pass on the coffee. Just water.”

There was some halfway decent bread, and canned beans. Alright, really, given that their Sunday hunt had gone sideways pretty badly. Somewhere half through his beans, he saw Cor stand up, coming over to him, sitting down. Not even asking if there was space for him or if Prom was waiting for somebody. The man’s last shave had been times ago, but fresh water, too, slowly turned into a luxury, and he was among the first who had started cutting corners.

Eyes like the winter sky were staring at him. The Immortal had always been distant, doubly so since the last of his kings had disappeared, and his gaze was galling.

“Marshal.” Prompto laughed nervously. “Um. Sir! Long time no see!”

“Something's different with you”, he stated, unblinking. “Anything to report?”

No, Prompto wanted to say, because from where he stood, nothing unusual had happened. It stuck in his throat, and all that came out was an uncertain croaking sound. He was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat, pounding faster than it should have, sitting here, and wow, he hadn't had a good old-fashioned, full-blown panic attack since high school, but this was definitely one coming right up.

“You're sweating. Breathe.” Those bright eyes narrowed, and it made them colder and sharp like those of a bird of prey. “Is it something that’s important for those living here or something important to you?”

If he knew what it was, that question would be a lot easier to answer, and if the diner didn't _stink_ of that awful coffee, it would have been a lot easier to breathe. “Me,” Prompto answered anyway. “I-- I think it's just me. So, uh-- no immediate danger.” He swallowed. “Nothing to report.”

“Mh.” The marshal gulped some of the brown horror without even twitching. “You're on duty today for...?”

That was a better question, he could answer that. "East road block."

Prompto was usually on one of two types of group missions: holding down road blocks and fences, shooting at approaching daemons from a distance, if possible, or – more often, lately – intel. If they needed to know what an area looked like, they would send him along with the team: he had a camera, and knew how to use it like nobody else around here.

“Copy that.” A short nod, then he got up. Exit Leonis.

He left a weird little silence that Ignis noticed, turning his head in their direction, eyebrows raised. Prompto shrugged, and verbalized that motion for Ignis. “Beats me.”

He then got up himself, trying to not make a scene of it, and if he stumbled a little, it was easily chalked up to his usual clumsiness. He went to the bathroom, and parted with his breakfast.

Great start into the day.

***

At the road block, it seemed to be a pleasant enough shift. The light towers were working just fine, and the people on guard were standing around, smoking and talking. Maybe it would be one of those relaxed days. Nights. Whatever. He still could not get used to it.

Prompto did what he usually did: say hello to everyone, make light conversation, ask them how they were doing, smile, keep the mood light. He wasn't really feeling it today, and so his part of the normal small talk subsided after less than an hour. It wasn't unusual for him to sit by himself, up on the driver's cabin of one of the trucks that didn't leave this place anymore. It was a good vantage point, for any kind of shooting. These days, the sniper rifle felt more familiar to his hands than his pistols ever had. He took a look through the scope.

“Anything?” Heavy boots upon the metal of the hood. The marshal leaning against the windshield, looking at him.

_Well shit._

“Nope.” Prompto lowered the rifle. _Keep it nice and simple, and it will work out. Maybe he doesn't even remember that you almost puked over his shoes._

“It's the smell.” Cor’s eyes tightened. “You've got a new-- naw. Forget it. Not these days. Not here. Made out with somebody that's not from this base?” He didn't sound reproachful in the slightest, more like a hunter looking for a trail.

Prompto shook his head. “Nope. Can't say that I have.” He wasn't even going to get into the first part of what the marshal had said.

“Fuck.” Cor took a flask from his jacket and took a swig, then offered it to the boy. “It reminds me of something. Somebody. Can't place it. Empty space.” He rubbed his face. “I'm scaring you, am I? All these years, and I still am.”

He was just about to decline, but now that Prompto thought about it… He took the offered flask, drank, and couldn't help pull a face. Handed it back to the marshal. His hands were shaking, just slightly. Still bad for a sniper on duty. Strange. They had been steady a moment ago. “I don’t think it's you. I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s not _you_.”

“It's something from years ago. Not my childhood. You were in school then.” He bit his lip. Another swig.

“Yeah, that's ages ago. I mean, not really, but with all the stuff that's been going on… Guess it’s pretty normal to forget some things, right?”

“Did that ever happen to you? Forgetting something _important?_ Things you think you should know, but then they're… just not there?” It was strange to seem him _helpless_ like this. “Maybe I'm just getting old and drinking too much.” He sighed and sat down on hood, back against the splintered glass of the windshield. “But we’ll prevail. For hearth and home.” He sounded like he was quoting someone else.

“For hearth and home.” Prompto nodded solemnly, then looked back down at his hands. Still trembling. He couldn't help but chuckle. “Maybe, but honestly? You've just described my whole day.”

“My last…” Cor seemed to be counting, calculating. “Seven years. Almost.” His head dropped heavy against the glass.

“Oh man.” Prompto whistled through his teeth. “Hats off, you’ve been holding up pretty damn well. It’s been less than thirty hours and I already think I’ve lost my marbles and they’re, like, all over Leide.” He was rambling and he knew it. “Just all over the desert. I really hope nobody slips on them. Tragic death, that…”

“You’ll get used to it.” A swig. “What do you remember? Let's say we lost neither marbles nor balls. Let’s work with that.” Cor had a hard time changing between conversational tone and being a military man, and it showed.

Prompto just rolled with it. It was good to have someone he could discuss this with, and if it was the marshal – okay, sure. “Remember is the wrong word, I guess…” He closed his eyes for a moment – allowed himself to do that, there were enough other eyes on the road right now – to get a hold of something. Anything. “I just know I forgot something. I thought it was a meeting, but that’s not it. I know I should know, but I don’t. That, and… something must have fucked up coffee pretty badly for me, and I can’t figure out what that could be, either.” He huffed a laugh. “Not much to go by.”

“I wake up in a ditch, my butt hurts like I had the wildest party for a week, I’m almost naked and my bike is gone. Not a scratch. Was gone for almost two weeks.” Cor slid down onto the hood, his legs dangling to the ground. “They said I was on a mission. Remember nothing. Nothing tangible.”  
His eyes were on Prompto again. “I don’t talk about this, you don’t talk about this. Are we in the clear here?”

“Crystal.” Prompto winced. Of all the things… He sighed. “Okay. Two weeks is pretty long, but it’s time, right? You know _something_ must have happened in those two weeks. So, uh, that’s something to start with, I guess.”

“The smell. That scent you have that is not yours. It brought me back. It's on your…” He was upright in no time, standing at ease, feet apart, arms behind his back. “May I?”

“On my…?” Prompto frowned. “Sure.” He was everything but sure, but if this helped in any way…

The marshal came closer. Not suddenly, but with the caution and time one would give an animal to grow accustomed to one’s presence. He sniffed, his eyes closed, first the clothing, then the naked skin of Prompto’s arm. He was a dog, one of the kind you had for self-defense or fights in the pit, the ones with lean muscles and many sharp teeth, and his beard tickled on the sensitive skin of the crook of the arm.

The slow approach helped, but by the time Cor had reached that point, Prompto had nonetheless gone completely still, and was holding his breath.

Cor raised is head. “When did you last shower?” He did not hold the touch longer than necessary.

Prompto’s lips formed a word, but no sound came out. He remembered to breathe. “Tuesday,” he repeated.

“Any physical contact?” Cor bit his lip, then changed the question to, “Any physical contact you remember?” He was in high-alert-state now, usually reserved for assassination attempts.

“Close… contact, you mean, right?” Casual contact, he had a lot. Quick hugs, fist bumps. Slaps on shoulders, backs, the occasional ass. _Close_ , though? “No. No, not... No.”

“Breathe. Clear your nose. Then try if you can smell something that’s not… that’s different.”

This was weird, but the rest of his day had been weirder, so Prompto complied. Sure, he was a little sweaty, but that was to be expected. Oil, and some gasoline. That, too, was pretty normal. Tomato and bile, where he had stupidly wiped his face with his arm. Coffee. He had to stop for a moment. It wasn’t just the smell of the coffee that went straight down to his guts, underneath was… something else. _Someone_ else. Someone else’s sweat, perfume Prompto didn't wear. Underneath that… something sweet, like licorice and dead things. He stopped moving. Cor could see him pale.

“I need a shower.”

“Go,” Cor said. “I’ll take your post.”

And that was that, no discussion. The marshal let him get down from the roof and manned it himself, an unmoving shape against the dark background. For the moment, there was nothing more he had to say, and so he just remained silent.

***

Prompto ran.

He got a few confused looks, first out at the road block, then back at the barracks, when he shoved his way past the improvised group showers, and to the one remaining proper bath, the one you could _lock_. It was usually reserved for emergencies – if you needed a survivor cleaned up after a vicious attack, this was were you found the medical supplies, the shower, the bathtub.

He slammed the door closed behind himself, locked it, and turned up the hot water.

Yes, it was draining the generator. Yes, he was using up more water than necessary. No, he did not care, not now, not even about getting undressed, first, he just let it wash over him and his clothes, hoping to get the stench out of them, too. He only freed himself of them when they became soggy and heavy, and the way the clung to him made it worse. He could not bring himself to take off the wristband, could not look at the tattoo. Could not bring himself to tear off that plastic tag on the soft band around his neck.

He just let the water _run…_

There was no soap. No brush. No point in scratching.

_… and run..._

It turned cold.

_… and run._


	2. In which family relations are cleared up

They dragged him out half an hour later, when the recycling plant had been working long enough to draw their attention. It was not unusual for people to a nervous breakdown out here, and this was a first for Prompto, so all he was met with was sympathy. They had a few daylight lamps for such cases, and he was sent to lie down underneath one of them for a while.

It was later when a visitor came, Cor Leonis of all people, and he brought a mug of what turned out to be cocoa. He sat at Prom’s bedside for a while, trying to find the right words, finally settling for something rare. “I'm sorry.”

Prompto sat up beside him, mug in hands, rolling it left and right between his palms. “It's okay,” he said. “Better now and like this than seven years and a drinking problem.” He bit his lip almost immediately. “Sorry. Not fair.”

The marshal breathed deeply and decided to shrug. “Gotta find a way to cope, and as long as you think that having lost your marbles is a real possibility, you don’t exactly go out of your way to talk about shit like that.” A wry little smile that made him look younger and more human.

“I guess not.” Prompto sipped his cocoa. His stomach growled appreciatively. Right, he hadn’t really had breakfast today. And with the things that were coming to light, he probably hadn’t eaten anything yesterday, either. “You did _not_ go crazy, though, I’m a hundred percent on that one. You… You had the same smell on you, right?”

He nodded slowly, hesitant to admit it. “And the taste in my mouth. For days. Was like I was soaked in that crap.” His hands were absent-mindedly playing with a piece of his jacket. “I managed to forget about it, you know? And then you walk by and I fall into a black pit and I feel like I’m drowning in the middle of that damn diner.”

“Sorry.” Prompto let his fingernails click against the mug. “I--. Um. I know who-- who that is. Who smells like that.”

“Probably not a friend of yours, judging by your face.”

“Not one of yours, either.” Deep breath in, and out, and another one in, and, “Ardyn Izunia.”

Usually, this was the kind of situation where people would either be in shock, or their faces froze in horror, but with Cor, pretty much nothing happened. Then ‘somewhat frozen’ was his usual state of being. Only his hands tightened around the fabric.

“ _Boy_ ,” he said, thoughts racing behind winter-sky eyes.

“Sorry,” Prompto said again. There really was nothing else to say. He was just glad that Cor was too busy figuring this out for himself right now to ask him how he knew what Ardyn smelled like.

“You're cursed with him, aren't you?” Cor’s thumb was rubbing the outside of his right wrist now, his voice so very distant.

Then again, rumor traveled fast these days, and it was already eighteen months down the line. Everyone probably thought they knew exactly what had happened to all of them the day Noctis disappeared. Some versions might actually be somewhat close to the truth. “Don’t I know it.”

“Zero-zero-zero-six-zero-two-zero-four,” Cor counted out, his eyes closed, and it was like a prayer from childhood, devoid of meaning. His nails dug into his wrist. “Do you think that’s his way of marking those he considers his own?”

If Prompto knew anything, it was that string of digits, and if anything made him nervous, it was somebody else knowing it, too. “Where did you hear that?”

Cor tapped his own wrist, where the skin was red and angry now, and something was there, like old and pale scars, only they looked like lines. He gently touched the boy's wrist, where leather and rivets hid an ugly tattoo. Nobody else was here, right now, so Prompto fumbled the wristband off. Not just scars, of course, but those, too, and underneath the full barcode, near indestructible. He didn’t say anything, and waited for the marshal’s reaction.

“I know, boy. But I wouldn’t blame a little one for the way he was born, and…” He swallowed hard. “Couldn't leave you there, could I?”

Silence. A long, tense silence. Then Prompto’s jaw began to work, but no sound came out. After another moment, what he managed to say was once more, “Sorry,” and, “This is a bit much to process for one day.”

“Wanna…” Cor paused, and even with his stone face Prompto could see a man cursing himself for saying a thing that had been closed away so neatly for half a lifetime. “… go and grab a bite? Better than sitting here and thinking, probably.”

He wanted to say something, but it really _was_ too much right now, so he just nodded. “Yeah. I guess that’s better.”

***

The grub was actually more than edible this time, and it wasn’t clear if Takka had seen that they both weren’t in the best of moods, or if he was just scared of the marshal, as so many people were these days.

They sat outside, their backs to the wall of the diner. It felt like a really awkward date in a way, only that Leonis seemed a lot more relaxed around him now that this was off his back. They had cans of lemonade and even a bit of cake as a dessert. Prompto didn’t feel like eating, but it had been a while, and he had too much on his plate – figuratively and literally – to go down that rabbit hole again on top of it all. It helped that they had something with a little taste for a change. By the time he picked up the cake, he didn’t feel like he had to force it down, anymore.

“So,” he said. “You.”

“‘fraid so.” The older man didn’t look at, him, but he tried an almost shy smile.

“How do you know my parents?” The question was completely inconsequential, with the Argentums dead and everything two decades in the past. Still, it was an answer he never had a chance to get before.

“Friends of a friend. Hostilities were in full swing then, and I-- I'm not cut to be a dad. Couldn’t take you to court, too much to explain, too many misunderstandings, too many accidents waiting to happen, and they said you’d be safe there.” The can cracked as his hands closed around it too hard. “I just _wanted_ you to be _safe_.” He grabbed for his flask and found it empty. Maybe it was better that way.

Prompto lifted his hand to lay it on Cor’s shoulder, but then just… didn’t. It just hovered there, two uncertain inches above it.

“I was. It was a good call, they did great. They just couldn’t keep me safe forever. I mean, nobody stuffed me into that uniform and tied me to Noct. I went along all by myself, and contrary to popular belief, I knew what I was doing. Well, as much as any of us knew what we were doing.”

“They didn’t. I for sure didn’t. Read your file, your psychological assessment. Only one who did great was you.” He emptied the can.

For a second, Prompto wanted to protest, but then he remembered that the _m_ _arshal_ had not only had the right to read that file, he had very likely been _required_ to read that file when he joined the Crownsguard.

“They did their best,” he amended.

“Do you miss them?” An innocent enough question.

He let his hand sink again, picked up his still mostly full can instead. “Sometimes.”

“I miss the idea of mine more than I miss the people.” Cor’s short fingernails pressed patterns into the tin. “They never were _close_.”

“It's like... you want to love them so badly, and they really haven't done anything to you, they just…” Prompto waved the can in front of his face in a vague I-don't-know gesture, “haven't done anything.”

“And they try, and you know they do, and that's somehow the worst part.” Cor sighed. “I’d tried to get a place in the forces since I was ten. They laughed at me and told me to come back when I was big enough to hold a weapon.”

“Never crossed my mind. Then again, actual goals never crossed my mind until I met Noct, so.” Prompto shrugged. “Good thing you did come back later, though. We’d have been fucked without you.”

“You were fucked with me, too. Should never have left his side…” The can was crushed in a strong hand and thrown away.

“Wouldn’t have changed anything. Everything after the Hydrean reared her head was… I mean, yeah, things were really screwed up before that, but…” _Breathe. Drink._ “It really wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“You think about your king, boy, I think about mine.” His hand was on Prom’s shoulder now, squeezing hard like he was steadying himself. “But you’re right. Breathe. Drink. Hunt.”

Prompto tensed under the touch, and frowned at the words that echoed his thoughts, but only for a short moment. “Yeah. Just take it day by day. Not like anyone can tell them apart, but – day by day.”

Cor took a long look at him. “Want to go hunting?” That was a something he didn’t ask. The Immortal worked alone.

Still, Prompto had to think about it for a moment. He shook his head. “I'm a mess right now. Somebody would get hurt. Tomorrow, though? Yeah.”

“Reasonable.” A nod. “You’ll find me when you’re ready. Will wait for you.” Other people would have needed an oath to sound so solemn.

“Thanks. Guess I better call it a day, then.” He got up. “See you tomorrow.”

“Hey.” The marshal stood up shortly after him. Two steps, and he was standing in front of him. For a moment, Prompto was sure he would hug him, but the man settled for a pat on his shoulder. “It will get better with time.”

In the long moment of silence that followed, something was left unspoken. Then Cor was back to being a soldier. A salute, tagging the boy as one of equal rank, and he left.


	3. In which a knee disagrees

The next morning came, and a disheveled Prompto, late and clearly unprepared for a hunt, shuffled into the diner, favoring his left leg. His movements looked stiff, in general, and that simply did not happen.

Cor was sitting over coffee and some maps, taking the time to update them. His brows raised as he saw the boy, but he waited for him to sit down before he opened his mouth. “The fuck?” he said, taking a sip from his cup.

“My thoughts exactly.” Prompto tried not to pull a face at the coffee, and didn't even bother with getting breakfast.

“Care to explain?”

A piece of pan-seared bread on a plate was moved over the table. It smelled inoffensive and, indeed, like bread. He left it sitting for the moment. “Wish I could. I kinda woke up like this – about an hour after I went to bed in the first place. It's the knee, mostly, I mean, I can deal with the rest. I couldn't…” Prompto shook his head. “It's better now, I can put weight on it. I just had to pester Cosa for something to help me sleep, so I'm still a bit…” He waved his hand around.

“Mh.” It was strange to talk to the marshal. He could not read him any more than one of those ancient busts that had decorated the palace. “Are you fit enough to listen?”

Honesty was a good policy with him, though, that much he had gathered. “If you don't talk too fast and stick to short and medium sized words.”

Cor nodded, and explained his plans in detail. What he would be hunting, where their lair was, which traps he was going to put up. He kept to short words, but probably would have done so anyway. Now and then he asked the boy questions, making sure he understood what he was telling him. Prompto followed well enough, and when he didn't, he still had enough sense to ask him to repeat. When the marshal was satisfied with his comprehension, he leaned back on the faux leather bench.

“I should be back in a week. You'll be up and around then. Catch some sleep and get well, okay?”

Prompto also had enough sense to not ask him where he was going. “Up and about in a week, got it. Just… try not to get eaten or something, yeah?”

“Too brackish to be enjoyable. If your leg is too bad to be on duty, use the time to go through my notes and give Gladiolus an update on the situation. That clear?”

“Yeah.”

Prompto tried to busy himself with the papers for another ten minutes, then gave up and gathered them for later. Sleeping off the sleeping pill sounded reasonable, and probably _was_ the best option for now. He got through next day just fine, and once he had pushed himself up to his improvised outlook at the road block, he could do his job. That was okay. The recon detail had to go without him the day after that – his knee wouldn't cooperate at all. He busied himself with notes and tactics as much as the pangs would allow. He considered talking to Ignis for a while, asking him for an opinion, but the man was busy these days, and he would have had to walk. The combined prospect of more pain and bothering Iggy kept him on his cot.

Mostly, Prompto tried to sleep.

He slept, and he dreamt.

When he woke, he could not quite remember any of the dreams. They were almost there, hidden behind a thin wall, and they didn't even feel like nightmares, just utterly confusing.

Somewhere out in the darkness, Cor Leonis also dreamt. He was well hidden in a little cave, finally so close to the creature he head been stalking for the last weeks. His quota of collateral damage in the enemies ranks while he was focused on a single target was decent enough that they allowed him to do his thing.

For Prompto, the pain came and went, mingled with the strange dreams, the confusion on waking, the darkness, and his best attempts to be useful, even when he couldn't hunt. One of the medically minded people – there was no real doctor around here, not since the old one hadn't returned one day – took a look at his knee on the third day, and as expected, there was nothing physically wrong with him. He tried walking through the pain, then, but when it was bad, it would simply give way, and even when it didn't, there was a limit to how long and through how much he could just grit his teeth.

He tried getting back on track, he really did, but all he had achieved so far was getting his sleeping schedule completely shot, and a regular sleeping schedule was all that made a distinction between night and day, one day and the next. So when he saw Gladio, the surprise on his face was genuine.

“It's Wednesday?”

“Yup.” Gladio seemed to grow more burly and grizzled every time he saw him, but his grin was still the same. “You're not looking so hot today. Anything up?”

New scars, or were they old ones? Either way, they were deep in ‘just-a-scratch’ territory for the Shield. He still wore them like badges of honor. Usually, Prompto would have moved in for a hug right about then, but…

“Just a bit of a rough night.” He scratched the back of his head and tried for his best sheepish grin. “Iggy is at…” Good question. He had last seen him at the diner, but that might as well have been yesterday.

The big guy sat down next to him. “You talking shit, Prom. What's on your mind?” An arm like a log around his shoulder, and Prompto went completely rigid. This wasn't supposed to happen. A good side hug from Gladio was supposed to ease panic, not to start it. This should have felt safe. Why didn't it feel safe? He made a sound, but he didn't get enough out for an actual reply.

“Well crap.” The arm was taken away, and the man eyed him apprehensively. “How bad on a scale from 1 to 10?”

Prompto sighed and sagged. “Solid seven, going on eight.”

“And you don’t wanna talk about it. Got something to do with your leg?” He had noticed, or heard. Of course he had. They had been fighting together long enough for him to notice even small physical problems, and this was a major one.

“Yeah, I guess that's part of the package. And… it’s not so much that I don’t want to talk about it – well, maybe it’s a little that I don’t want to talk about it? It’s really more that I haven’t figured this out enough to even have anything to talk _about._ If that makes any sense at all.”

“You know you can come to me anytime, Prom. If you wanna talk or anything.” His fist bumped tenderly into the boy’s shoulder. “Want me to I check out that leg of yours?”

The idea of Gladio holding any part of him was more than scary, and he just could not tell _why_. Prompto smiled, and he was sure that he could see just how stiff it was. “Already had it checked out. It's…” Gladdy would figure it out sooner or later, anyway, right? “It's fine. All in my head, I guess.”

“Doesn't make it less real.” He was in ‘Hey buddy, I'm your trainer, and we can do this’ mode now, which hadn’t been on for years. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk to _me_ about it, but you should talk to _somebody_. If we have to get you to Lestallum for that, we will.”

“Thanks, dude. Maybe once I’ve figured this stuff out enough to have something to talk _about_.” The other thing was that Cor was here, not in Lestallum, and having someone around who _got it_ was worth more than any shrink ever could be.

The big guy grumbled, but nodded in the end. “Folks said you got a promotion?”

***

_ Cor hunted, and Cor dreamt. _

_ Dreamt of a black thing sitting on his chest, eating his breath, leaving him with only enough to not suffocate. He said the name, the name the boy told him, and the thing's golden eyes lit up, and it grinned. Sharp things in its mouth, mirror-shard teeth, and it bit down on him and ate his face. _

_ When he woke in cold sweat, its voice still echoed in his head, sweet and dark and slightly sour like rich chocolate. “You called for me?” _

***

“No, I really didn't.” Prompto blinked. “I mean, what?”

“Folks said the marshal made you his right hand, so I guess you're my liaison now when he’s gone? Good job, man!”

“Oh! That, yeah. Thanks!” If that was what it looked like, all the better. “He’ll be out for another few days, so… we’ve got some things to go over. Updates and stuff.”

“So you got time for that now, marshal-in-training?” Gladio did his best not to show his worries, being all smiles and energy, but he had never been a good liar. Still, Prompto decided to roll with it.

“Yeah, let's.”

***  
“... so that's all of the north covered. Any questions?” It was all three of them, now. If Ignis listened in now, he wouldn’t have to talk to him alone to explain it again, later. They had been over this bit in three variations, so Prompto was pretty sure that there were none.

Ignis spoke up, anyway. “Actually, yes, I do.”

“Uh, sure, ask away.”

“You have been avoiding me. Why?”

“He has?” After the little talk they just had, Gladio sounded only mildly surprised.

“I haven’t! I-- I mean, you know, you’re busy, I’m busy, you’re busy in one place, I’m busy somewhere else, and whoa, has it been _weeks_ already? Time flies!”

They didn’t even need to exchange a gaze. The word “bullshit” came in practiced unison.

“Hey! Two against one, not fair!” Prompto sighed. Maybe half the truth would do here, too. “I knew you’d ask me what’s up, and I really don’t wanna answer that.”

Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know you are acutely aware of the responsibility resting on our shoulders, and you know that _working_ _together_ still is the only thing that keeps the Darkness at bay. If you don’t feel up to the task at the moment, nobody will be angry or disappointed, we just _need to_ _know_ so we can adjust plans accordingly.”

Gladio nodded gravely. “These are hard times for all of us. If the marshal feels like you’rein better hands with him and you agree with this, we can work with that, but we can’t work with a part of the leadership having secrets that keep him from doing his job. Do you understand that this is not because we want you out, but because we are worried?”

“I-- um.” Prompto chewed on his lower lip, then settled for an awkward smile. “I guess I deserved that. And, uh. No, I’m not really up to anything much, at the moment. And… you realize that this ‘part of the leadership’ thing never even crossed my mind, right? I mean… hello!”

“Even a blind man can see that they’re looking for guidance in those close to the King.”

Ignis’ word brought silence over the table, then Gladio shrugged. “Looks like, yeah.”

“I just thought-- Noct is--” Prompto licked his lips. “He’s not around, so there’s not much Crown left to guard, and I thought I’d be back to just… I mean, you guys are still nobility and all that and…” He stopped. “Doesn’t mean all that much anymore, huh?”

“You know what a decent king does, Prom?” Gladio this time, speaking from the heart. “Guard his people. And as long there is no decent king, it’s up to his advisors to do that. That’s what Regis would have wanted, and what Noct understood in the end. It means bloody everything.”

Prompto raised both hands in defense. “I get it! I know. _Not_ what I’m talking about. I just meant the whole you noble, me pleb thing. You’d think I'd be over that after-- ugh.” He let his forehead sink to the table between them. He sighed and lifted it again. “You know what? I stick to the marshal, like you said, ‘cause at least that way I’m some use around here while I'm like… this. And I’ll take care of it whenever I’ve got enough to go by to take care of it.”

“Promise to tell us if there is anything we can do for you, okay?”

“Don’t get this the wrong way, but-- space. I-- I think I really need some space.”

“I think you really need some…” Gladio rumbled, but Ignis shook his head.

“I need some fresh air,” he interrupted. “Would you be so kind to accompany me, Gladio?” He made a point of taking the Shield’s elbow, gripping it tight, leaving him very little choice on the matter.

As they left, Prompto groaned, and let his head fall back onto the table. “Way to fuck it up.”  



	4. In which books are shared

The Immortal had slain his prey. Once again. This one had acted too clever for his liking, making noises that sounded like garbled language. When he raided its lair, he found things that supported an idea, no, a fear, that had been in his mind for quite a while, even before the sun fell. He packed them up nice and tight and started his way back to Hammerhead.

Prompto slept, and Prompto dreamt.

Dreamt of fields of white and red, of bodies as far as the eye could see, and his hands slick with blood. Of arms encircling him from behind, just shadows, crushing him, and a coarse hand over his mouth and nose. Hot breath against his ear, and a voice, "This is what you were made for."

He woke with a start, and a gasp, and to the sound of his own heart’s loud thrumming in his ears.  
  
Over that, behind that, the soft hissing of a blade on a whetstone, being sharpened to perfection.  
He was laying under the night sky, his back to some crates, and there was the silhouette of the marshal polishing his swords, drinking clear stuff from a bottle of glass that surely wasn’t water.  
Prompto had fallen asleep in one of those rare corners where people came if they wanted to be alone with themselves for a smoke or a drink or a nap without fleeing into the tight space they had in the barracks, and Leonis had stumbled over him and just decided to stay. To keep watch.  
  
Prompto pushed himself up, and waited until he could hear the rest of the world over his pulse again. “Hey. You didn’t get eaten. Good going.”  
  
He saw Cor tense up. “Or they shit me out again, your call.”

_Ssssskt._

“Thought for a moment you died on me there. Just passed out and died.”

_Ssssskt._

“Then you were whimpering, and I thought that this wasn’t one of the “I’d be rather dead.”-situations. Right decision?” He turned his head and looked at the boy.

"Yeah." Prompto nodded. "Permanent solution, temporary problem, and all that. And just for future reference: No matter what sounds I make in my sleep? Just.. don’t. Good?"

“Sometimes people make these noises when they’re fighting with something and losing. It may not be visible for the naked eye or only when it rips them apart from the inside.”

_Ssssskt._

“It took me a moment to make sure you were only dreaming.”

“Right,” Prompto said. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. “Thanks for the benefit of the doubt, then.” Another thought crossed his mind, a bit out of left field. He shook his head, unsure if to to voice it.  
  
“Remember what you dreamt?”  
  
“Most of it.”

“Maybe you should write it down somewhere, to get it out of your head. Or tell someone.”

A swig of the bottle. The thought that he might be a viable option did not even cross his mind. Since he didn’t offer, neither did it cross Prompto’s. Cor had enough problems of his own to deal with.

“Yeah, Gladio said pretty much the same thing.”  
  
“How’s your leg doing?” He was content with the edge of the blade now, storing it and the whetstone where they belonged.

“Not so hot. Sorry. I know I said I’d get a grip.”

“Awake enough to talk? It’s a bit of a…” He scratched his head, “case of lost marbles, and I could need a second opinion.”

Prompto nodded. “Yeah, head’s all there. Shoot.”

Cor sat down next to him, taking a thing wrapped in plastic from it. “Open it up, and tell me what you think.”

Inside, Prompto found a book, one of those notebooks they would use in school, slightly sticky, slightly smelly. The writing inside was delicate first, but grew bigger and somewhat clumsy during the later pages. The letters made no sense to him. Scribbles and circles and symbols in irregular rows and patterns, oddly alive under his eyes.  
  
“… okay. Uh, since this is a marble thing I’m gonna ask.” Prompto blinked at the pages. “Is that supposed to move?”

“It only does since the sky fell. Found documents like this before now and then, letters usually, or rests of letters. Never enough to figure out the code it’s written in, and I hoped it were just outliers. Just some morons making up another secret society, you know?”  
  
“Huh.” He turned the notebook side to side. “It must be in the ink... just why would anyone do that?”

“Wanna hear an educated guess? One for I which have absolutely no proof?”

“Sure.”

“There’s a group of people that decided that it was a really good idea to worship the Infernian. That he was only misunderstood and would help mankind to rise above itself in the end. Purification through fire. Thing is: It seems he listened, or something did. That led to me stumbling over things that were neither daemon nor man, sometimes able to communicate, but always extremely hostile, and traces like this.” He pointed at the book and took a swig.  
  
“So,” Prompto said very slowly, “what you are telling me is that not only does someone think that sending the Scourge on us was an act of kindness, and that making ink from the stuff is totally a-okay, but they also think we need _more_ things that want to eat our faces."  
  
“I don’t think this is about kindness, but about survival of the fittest. About a new stage of being for those who are worthy. But I don’t _know_ , and… well shit. Look at your face, just in case you want to ask me later why I never went ahead and told anyone.”

“See, my face is not like that because I think you’re crazy, my face is like that because what you’re saying… with everything else that is going on… sounds pretty plausible. And I’m wondering what the fuck is _wrong_ with people. I mean, how is that a good idea? What’s their damage?”  
  
“Trying to become something better, because they feel weak and afraid?” His fingernails drew patterns on the bottle.  
  
Prompto fell silent. Sighed. "Yeah, okay. Okay, times are tough. I’d just have a lot more sympathy to spare if their plan wasn’t that likely to get people killed.”

“Up to now, they’re mainly getting themselves killed. But then, there’s so much I don’t know, and with this book, I finally might have enough material to actually try and figure out the code, if it is one and not straight up a new language.” A sigh, and he closed his eyes. “What I still don’t have is time.”  
  
“People turning themselves into... changing themselves into…” _In through the nose, out through the mouth. Very good. Try again._ "It _will_ backfire. If that’s what it is. So. Um. How can I help you with that one?”  
  
“You’re not exactly getting out much at the moment. You have time to read, and you are a clever kid...”  
  
Prompto huffed a laugh. "I never really was the brains of the operation... but yeah, I’ve got nothing but time, so. Sure. I’ll give it a shot."  
  
“I’ll bring you the stuff I collected over the years. Don’t mind the stains.”


	5. In which a hug happens

Cor slept, and Cor dreamt, and when he awoke, he found his pillow wet and his eyes swollen. He was exhausted in a way that he hadn’t been in years. He rubbed his face and got dressed, just enough to be presentable, and went and searched the little gunman.  
  
He found him at the diner, the one place here that still tried to look friendly, and was always not just reasonably lit, but bright. Bright enough to stop the letters from wriggling, and to keep the vague anxiety at bay that came from touching these books so much. The smell in the air today was tea instead of coffee, they had probably run out of beans for the time being. Prompto was nursing a cup of the stuff and frowning at his notes.  
  
He sat down on the worn faux leather, saying nothing at first. Somebody brought him a mug of tea, and it took him a gulp to ground himself enough in this world to not cry in relief, but to ask the boy how things were looking.  
  
“I don’t know, I haven’t…” Prompto looked up, and got a good look at Cor’s face only then. “… gotten all that far yet. Rough night?”  
  
“I just...” his face was half hidden behind the mug, “… wanted to see if you’re fine. If it was not true.”  
  
Nightmares, then. “I’m fine. Still me, alive and kicking.” Prom grinned at him. “Just with really bad hair.” Avoiding mirrors did that.

“You put a gun to your head. Pulled the trigger. Only it was not you. MT armor. Shorn head. But the eyes were right, filled with hurt and doubt, and when your skull exploded, what came out was feather down, grey and red and cold as ice.” He put down the mug and buried his face in his hands.

“I _am_ awake.” It sounded strangely like a question.

“You’re okay. You’re awake,” Prompto assured him, but his voice sounded distant in his own ears. There was a heavy weight around his neck, a millstone pulling him down. When he reached for it, all he touched was cool, light plastic. The dog tag that wasn’t one. The tiny thing he kept forgetting about and never looked at twice.

_The world ended._

“Mind if I stay here for a while? Just to make sure.”  
  
The feeling went away as quickly as it had come, leaving only the awareness that the tag was _there_ and that it was something important. Cor’s question, he could hear loud and clear again.

“Of course I don’t mind.” Prompto frowned. This was… a little awkward, because with his other friends – all two remaining of them – he would have known what to do, under normal circumstances at least. Cor Leonis, though, did not seem like the type for hugs. In public.

_Oh, whatever._

He got up and moved around the table to sit next to him. Having a direct neighbor was deemed acceptable, at least there was no direct opposition. Cor gave him a short look and a half-hearted smile, mumbled a little “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay.” The direct approach worked best with him, right? He was so going to be weirded out, but better to have asked, right? “Do you need a hug?”  
  
Cor blinked, and suddenly it was him who hugged Prompto, holding him like a puppy you considered lost and then found again, and the boy heard a heavy breath that might have been a sob or relief, and just like that, it was over again, and there was a mug of tea in Cor’s hands.  
One of the hunters was staring in disbelief and quickly turned back to his own conversation as he noticed that he had been noticed, pretending there had never been anything outside the norm.  
  
It had happened to everyone here at some point, and if they thought that the Marshal should be the exception, it was their own damn fault. Prompto held on, and let Cor hug him as long as he needed to. “It’s okay… It’s okay.”

The man cleared his throat and rubbed his face. “Not far as in ‘Nothing at all’ or as in ‘This will take time’?”

Back to business it was.


	6. In which a key is found

Off duty. In a quiet corner. Time to look at this strange little thing he had been carrying around and conveniently kept forgetting about. Prompto pulled the band over his head, and read the print on the dog tag.

_NH-01987 / 0032-3295_

A serial number, just like his own. With it came an ache in his chest that felt a lot like loss, and an idea scratching at his brain, insistent to be let in.

_Pulled the trigger. Only it was not you. MT armor. Shorn head. But the eyes were right...  
_

Memories came, locked away for safekeeping.

"Not shorn. Never had time to grow in the first place."

The feeling of fingers digging into his battered knee...

"Not me. With me."

 _... I’m waiting for two lost children.._.

 

_It’s a key._


	7. In which the first dream is shared

Cor slept, and Cor dreamt.

This time the dreams were brought on by a fever, and he had cursed himself even while the daemon’s claws ripped through his flesh. The little gunman drained his focus, and those sad blue eyes and that desperate grin got to him. He had mused if this was the beginning of a crush, but that was not it. He was not used to this kind of emotional turmoil, and he did not like it.  
He lay in hiding now, black oil soaking his clothes, the remains of the daemon still heavy on his leg. He lacked the strength to remove them, and as he waited for the elixir to take effect, he fell asleep.  
  
_“This does not look good.” A emotionless voice, beige and slightly bored. Then he seeing himself, drifting in smooth waves of liquid silver, only it’s not liquid, but an an ocean full of tiny wriggling things, and his arms and legs are gone, neatly separated at the joints, and he sees himself trying to swim, the stumps barely keeping him afloat. Those tiny silver worms wash over him, get into his mouth, and he feels them forcing their way into the dark place between his legs, and he’s sinking under their waves, and he feels himself drowning in pleasure.  
_

_This can’t be happening._  
  
He tries to force himself to wake, tries to stare at his dream hands, for that was how they tought him to control his dreams if they went to bad places, to focus on moving his fingers, but there are no fingers, and he’s screaming, his mouth full of silver.

***

  
Prompto slept, and Prompto dreamt.

He hated asking for medication – their resources were so limited, and he wasn’t injured, not really. Only tonight Cosa had offered without him asking for it, when she had caught him shaking and biting his pillow to muffle all sounds that could wake anyone. The pill pulled him under quickly, dulled the pain, and all other sensation with it.

_He is floating._

_When he opens his eyes, he half expects the blue glow of the tank. The nightmare has become so familiar. Instead, he is greeted by air, and the clear night sky of days gone by. He can see the stars above him, and when he turns…_

_He is falling._

_The ground beneath comes closer, a landscape of dull grey, broken by silver streams and pools, oddly animated in the moonlight. There is no time for panic. Just before he hits the surface: two voices. The first is all rough and muffled screams, terror forced into submission. The second speaks, glass shards in sugar and tar._

“ _Close your eyes and be a brave boy.”_

***

Waking up was filled with shame. Cor remembered only fragments, only that he had some weird and vivid wet dream that felt all too real.

The thing on his legs was lighter now, mainly because things had come to dine on it while he was out, and he was lucky that they preferred dead tissue over living one.  
He knew he should return to the base, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not now. The space there was too cramped and too bright and filled with way to many people. His provisions would last a little longer, and he decided to wander until they were expended.

***

Prompto’s day started late, waking to the pain that was flooding back. The drugs still made him feel slow and heavy, both feelings he usually had a simple remedy for, but his own stupid mind had decided to take that away from him. He could not run, so he was stuck with slow. Heavy, he could do something about. It wasn’t particularly bright, and so far he had been trying to avoid it, but Six, he had to find _some_ relief.

At least he wasn’t drinking.

The week was filled with trying to press some meaning from the twitching letters of the notebooks, of just the tea, thanks, Takka, one day bleeding into the next, only two days marked in his mind: Wednesday, for the tension at the table when he made his report to Gladio, and what he supposed was Saturday.

On Saturday, Prompto slept, and Prompto dreamt.

_He is running, and he has been for a while now. His lungs and throat are burning from the exertion, from the cold of the blizzard around him, and from yelling a name at the top of his voice, over and over._

“ _Noct!”_

_The prince keeps walking. Only walking, steady and purposeful, and still Prompto has to run to keep up. He is sure that the only reason he doesn’t listen is the howling wind, it must be the wind, because otherwise it would mean that Noctis is ignoring him. That he is leaving him behind._

“ _You should have averted your eyes.”_

_Ignis’ voice is right beside Prompto’s ear, barely more than a whisper. He cannot remember ever having heard him like that. It startles him, and he stumbles, falls._

“ _You should have fallen to your knees.” He has heard it like that. Exactly like that._

_He braces for more humiliation._

“ _So vain, and so stupid, that you really thought you were his equal.”_

_Curls up in the snow and covers his ears._

“… _being his whore isn’t enough?”_

_Waits for the hot breath on his neck, big hands, and another voice, just moaning._

“ _We’ll show you what you’re made for.”_

_He braces for the pain._

***  
  
Cor was worn and torn. He was rested well enough, and his wounds were healed, but he was still hungry.

He had allowed himself to get lost in the ruins of a military base, hoping to find supplies that had not been raided yet, and he seemed in luck. Some ammunition, two rifles as like the MTs used them, still functional, hidden away under a heap of garbage, and one of the mask, pale and expressionless. He was not sure why he took it along. Maybe as a grim reminder of the fate the boy managed to avoid, maybe as a grim reminder for himself. His fingers stroked the smooth surface as he walked, mumbling the cursed number like a prayer under his breath, just to focus on anything but his empty stomach.

It was just for a few seconds that the smooth metal felt like skin, and he didn’t really notice. Just a sharp pang of fear that came out of nowhere.

***

_He braces for the pain. It never comes._

_Instead he feels a gentle touch on his cheek. He knows this hand, knows that it has never truly hurt him. Ignis’ mocking voice fades, and he sighs, and he wakes._

Prompto still felt somewhat human when he opened his eyes, and was thankful for that. He didn’t feel great, the nightmare had still shaken him – but if it had gone on any longer, his day would have been over before it even started, his leg almost numb with pins and needles instead of just aching. He could function like this.

There was work to do.


	8. In which Hammerhead is left behind

It was much later when Cor stumbled into Hammerhead. The folks manning the walls almost shot him, for he was a mess and barely reacted when they called out to him. Only when one of them recognized the marshal under his crust of dirt and blood, they went out to get him. They tried to get him into the ward, but he refused, instead sitting down in front of the diner, wrapped in a blanket, spooning hot soup. He was all to willing to give them his clothes and promised to clean himself up later, but what he now needed was rest and a full stomach.

_Is everything all right, Marshal?_

Sure it was.

Halfway through the soup, Prompto came outside, gingerly took the three steps down, and sat next to him. Didn't say anything. Didn't ask. Just sat there.

“I think”, Cor said after the second bowl and a whole while of staring into nothing, “that I may need a few days off. Maybe a nice seaside resort. Or anything else, if that's not an option.”

Prompto nodded. “Galdin Quay's closed for the off-season, but I heard Lestallum is nice around this time of year.”

“Mh.“ The spoon hit the bowl in a steady rhythm. “We could probably join the next caravan. They'll survive without us for a few days.“ Winter-sky eyes upon the little gunman, lost in thought. “If you wanna accompany me, that is.“

“Days, huh?” Prompto sighed. “I talked to Gladio a few weeks ago. He said he could get me up there. Iris is still around, too, so it shouldn't be a problem to find a good place to stay. And, uh... I think I'd stay. At least for a while.” He shrugged, tried to soften the next statement with a smile. “This place is killing me.”

“Days, yeah. I'm too old to forgo this word now.“ Cor frowned. “We could go and see Weskham. Heard he's put up shop there. Last one of the old guard. Maybe one of the last who are pleased to see me.“

Another nod. “Yeah, I'm sure he will be.” Prompto looked at him. “While we're still here - need anything?”

“You're the one who's got the important materials. Everything else can be packed in ten minutes, if it has to be.” The outlook of getting away from this crowded place with a _reason_ seemed to improve his mood.

“Should probably take a shower first of all.”

Prompto grinned. “You really should.” The grin eased into a smile. “Maybe get some sleep, if you can. Tomorrow I'll get us our ride out of here.”

“Shall I go and talk to your friends?” Now that Prompto had mentioned sleep, Cor's brain seemed to remember a thing like it existed, and he yawned.

“It's fine, I'll take care of it. You get some rest.”

And to his surprise, someone listened to his order, and he was left alone.

***

Prompto did as he had promised. The next day he went looking for Gladio. He knew he had to be around somewhere, he had said something or other to that effect during their last update talk. Something about the maintenance team. Prompto barely remembered, and if that wasn't just another sign he needed to get out of here...

He found Gladio by the workshop, talking to Cindy. Another person he had been avoiding. He put on his best smile, and closed in on the two.

“Hey, Cindy! Hey, Gladio. Sorry to interrupt you guys, but I sort of need to talk to the big guy for a sec. That alright?”

“Guess I can let you borrow him for a while.“ Cindy grinned. She found Gladio very much to her liking, even if it was mainly that he was good in lifting heavy things and always ready to do so.

“Thanks.” Prompto stepped away from the garage, far enough for them to be out of hearing range, and waited for his friend to follow. “Um. Hey. Look, about the other day...”

"You're feeling better today and the stress got to you?" Vague hope in the burly guy's voice.

“Not... not really. I mean... It sort of did, and I'm sorry for being an ass.” Deep breath. “I, uh... I wanted to get back to you about the Lestallum thing.”

"Spit it our, Prom." His oil-smeared hands were on his hips. "I'm all ears."

“Something happened, and... um. You're right.” Prompto shrugged. “I need to talk to someone. And a door I can lock when I sleep.” That was about as far as he could go for reasons, right now. “So how quickly can you get me out of here? The marshal, too. That guy needs a break.”

“Need to talk to Specs about this first, but I'm happy you came to a decision.” He raised his arm for a hug, but let it sink again without touching the boy.  
He watched the arm rises and lower again. Funny how you never knew where you take your strength and comfort, and how much you need it, until you couldn't have it anymore. “I should probably talk to him, too. Would be pretty shitty to just up and leave...”

“Will be some time anyway until a larger group leaves, so give him a bit to come to terms with that. He still likes to know where you are, even if he's not good at showing it.”

Prompto nodded. “Will do. There's... one thing I can tell you. Should tell you. Two, really...” He had thought about this the night before, long and hard, and he should have done this before. His friends should at least have a warning. “There's some really crazy people on the road, but... you probably know that already. Trying to find out just how bad the crazy is. I'll keep you posted. And... Ar--” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to try again twice. “Ardyn is still out there, and... he's still got a pretty sick sense of humour. Be careful.”

“Prom?” The cursed name had been enough to put Gladio into full alert.

Prompto just shook his head. “Be careful.”

***

“Do you think Prom's going mad?”

Ignis softly put down his cup, turning his head towards Gladio. “I think the last months are finally catching up with him and he's not coping very well.”

“Said that Ardyn was still out and about, and that we should take care.”

“Is Gralea still coming back to haunt him? I cannot blame him. There never was time to rest from that.”

“Think he's blaming us?”

The blind man sighed. “That we put him aside because his Majesty was more important at that moment?”

“That's a yes.”

“We all are unimportant compared to Noct. You know that, and he does, too.”

“He asked me if it's okay if he's going to Lestallum for a while. To see someone. Would take the Marshal with him, and I'd honestly like to hear from someone who knows her how Sis is doing.”

“And you consider the Marshal as the least possible threat for a young lady? You're probably right with that.” A thin smile.

“Prom wants to say goodbye. And sorry, because he at least knows he's behaving like an idiot.”

Ignis nodded. Of course. He was their friend, after all.

***

And what a friend he was. It took Prompto a full day, after that, to go anywhere near Ignis, much less say something. He eventually sidled up with a mug of tea, and let it click down in front of him what he hoped was loudly enough, before finally clearing his throat and managing, "Hey, Iggy."

“Hey, Prompto.” A little smile. He had coffee. Of course, he had.

Good thing there wasn't all that much in his stomach that could come up, anyway. Prompto closed his eyes. He would not let this get to him. He would not. “I... um. Gladio already talked to you, I guess.”

“You met Ardyn and don't want to talk about it.”

“'Met' is a bit--” He bit his lip. “Yeah, basically.”

“And not talking about it is a good idea because...?” He did not sound angry, just asking matter-of-factly.

“Because I-- Because whatever happened, it...” Prompto swallowed. “It's not so much that I don't want to, it's more... I can't. And the bits and pieces I can say are...” A sigh. “You didn't do anything, and it's so not fair, and...”

“But you did something, and this is coming back to haunt you now? Prom?” The gloved hand grabbed his own. “Don't force me to quote this _All for one_ talk. I know you loved the movie.”

He tensed, forced himself to not pull his hand away. It trembled, and the rest of his body quickly followed.

“You know that everything he creates are lies and destruction. Smoke and mirrors and lies.” Iggy's voice was imploring, and he kept his hand were it was.

“I know. Look... what...” Ignis wouldn't let this go, would he? Ignis never let go without a proper explanation. “I... here's what I've got: Something happened. I can't remember. I get tiny bits back here and there, but I can't remember. All I know is that he-- I met him, and it was bad, and my whole body goes...” Prompto moved the hand he was holding on to a bit. “It goes like that when you or Gladio are around, and...” _Breathe. Just breathe._ “So... yeah, I know. That is why my gun is in its holster, and not against your head, and not in my mouth.”

Prompto's breath caught. He hadn't meant to say that last bit out loud. Ignis nodded slowly.

“Thank you for telling me. I understand why you want a change of surroundings then. The marshal is informed about your little... problem?”

“Yeah.” _He's got it worse than I do_. “I'm sorry.”

“Promise you'll keep us updated?”

Prompto nodded, then caught himself. “Yeah. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I understand that you are scared, and so will Gladio.“ Gentle pressure on his shaking hand, then Ignis took his fingers away.

“Thanks. I'm--” He bit his lip. “Iggy?”

“Yes?“

“This is stupid, but... uh. Noct and me... that was okay, right?” _It was bad enough when you were just a commoner..._ “You didn't think I was...” _His whore._

“Anything but close to his heart of his own free will? No.”

Prompto could feel himself choking up. “Thank you.”

“I'll write you a list for things you might find in Lestallum. The lack of spices is probably the worst thing about this place.”

Prompto waited a moment until he could trust his voice again, then tried to add a smile to boot. “Establishing a steady supply line of rosemary and cinnamon: added to my to-do list.”

“Proper chilis. I'd do things for proper chilis. And now you go and get your things together, you hear?”

 ***

“We leave in half an hour.”

Prompto shouldered the larger of his two backpacks - this one held the books. The smaller one held his clothes and personal belongings. Apart from that, he was openly carrying his weapons and camera. Everything he owned, and even with a bum leg he could still carry it for a good while. Most of the people around here were like that, though.

Cor nodded towards a little backpack. Except for his blades, this was everything he owned. “At least, we won't take up much space. Called Weskham. He said you're welcome if you wanna stay with an old geezer, and he'd always find a place for me.”


	9. In which sex shouldn't have happened

Lestallum had changed, and yet it had not. The power plant was the best guarded and maintained building on the continent, and so the city was still brightly lit, the way it had been in clearer nights, and the streets were bustling with life - more so than ever. With so many refugees from the outposts trying their luck here, and the policy being that nobody was to be turned away, housing space was beginning to grow sparse, but people made do. Some of the new tenants were survivors from the Crown City, after all, and huge crowds and tiny living spaces were nothing new to them - advice was spread, futons rolled away for the day, tactics and bedroom floors shared.

Things that had already been given up on at the outposts were still going strong, and in no danger of fading away: cafés, clubs, theatres, all working under the ceaselessly flowing power provided by the Disc, and around all restrictions that limited resources put upon them. The marketplace had spread through the surrounding streets, offshoots popping up in almost all larger spaces. If it still existed, you could buy it here.

Life went on.

It was hard to get a complete flat, even a small one, but it looked like their names still pulled some weight, so Weskham had managed to organise a place for Cor to call his own. It was hardly more than a closet, but it had its own stove and shower. He also stayed true to his word in regards to Prompto - there was some room left in the attic of his restaurant, if you pushed the crates around a little, and it was certainly more private than his living room floor. There was even a padlock, he'd just have to make sure to hand out more of the red if Weskham needed it down at the bar.

The Mag2 was its own little world. A three-story building with its own little marketplace in the ground floor, where the merchandise was interesting and money a thing you did not talk about. Above it a restaurant. Weskham could not be without one, and he did his best to bring memories of Altissia into its rooms. It was dark and discreet and romantic, and when Cor settled at a table at the bar, it felt a bit more like home.

Weskham had greeted both of them with a hug, and a kiss on the cheek for Cor. He did not ask questions, but brought them food and drink and did his best to be a good host for two lost souls, and when Weskham did his best, it was a good thing indeed. It was the most human Prompto had felt in a long while. This was all so wonderfully normal, and for an hour or two, it was just the night to another day. He could deal with the world, from the ache in his knee to the food on his plate.

“I should probably go say hi to Iris, first, and then go look for a job. And then probably go and, uh, do what I actually came for. You got any plans?”

“Iris is probably a good start. We'll see what will happen then. Maybe help out Wesk a little in the kitchen or something, if he let's me.”

“Unless you have a history of exploding ovens, I'm sure he will. He seemed pretty happy just to see you alive and not missing any important pieces.”

“He never trusted me with food when I was a kid, guess he won't trust me now. I'll be chopping onions for the rest of my stay.” A lopsided grin.

“Chopping onions is good honest work.” Prompto grinned as well, then got up. “I'll go find Iris. Later!”  
  
Gladio had given him an address. It was down in the outskirts that were as close to being slums as they could be without being named as such, and the flat seemed to be on the top floor of the building. He climbed the stairs, found his way between laundry racks, playing children and a wrought iron balustrade and finally stood in front of a red wooden door, the paint still quite fresh.

Prompto knocked. “Iris? You home?”

“Coming!”

The girl that opened the door was as cute as ever, even if her skirt was even shorter than in his memory. She had grown a little, and her hair was longer now, falling in dark waves upon her shoulders. A tight shirt with some logo on it, the collar cut away, and bare feet.

“Prom? That you?” She beamed, unbelieving at first, and them hugged him without mercy.

Prompto hugged back, and tried to lift her off her feet - only with partial success, the height and weight difference really wasn't what it used to be. He laughed at his botched attempt. “It's so good to see you!”

“Good to see you!“ She giggled in delight, and her arms remained around him, and she hugged him again. “What are you doing here?“

He grinned at her. “Just getting out of Hammerhead a bit to see the _really_ important people.”

“You're so sweet! Gladdy with you too?“ She dragged him into her flat. A little thing similar to Cor's, only with way more plushies. No pictures on the walls, though.

“No, sorry. He's pretty tied up with the whole maintenance thing, but he says hi, and he's probably gonna mince me if I don't make sure you've got all you need.”

“It's busy down at Hammerhead, is it? You look like you haven't slept in ages! Want some juice or something?“

“Water would be great. And... yeah, busy just about describes it. Plus, half of the guys at the barracks they set up there snore worse than Gladio, so sleep? Forget it.”

He was dragged down to sit on a couch between some stuffed animals, and given a cup filled with water. She sat down beside him, legs tucked up, still beaming. Her toenails were painted in a sparkling pink.

“You already got a place to stay? I mean, if you don't you can crash here anytime...”

“Weskham's attic, right now. Thanks for the offer. Cor's around, too. He's probably gonna swing by some time this week, as well, just so you know.”

“Weskham has an attic? I always imagined that every closed of area just was a giant walk-in-closet.” She stretched her arms to the ceiling, but this was only a razzle-dazzle for the next hug. “How long will you stay? Say you'll stay for a while!”

“Proper attic! Dust and all.” He held her tight for a moment. “I'll stay for a while. Cross my heart.”

Here they were, smiling brightly, both of them. A little too brightly, both of them. Prompto wondered if he should ask. If she wanted someone to ask.

“I wanted to go to the movies today. Like, the stuff is ancient, but it's with sunlight and they got popcorn and all. Wanna come with me?“

“Sounds amazing.”

Ancient was the word. The movie was a coming of age thing that had already been a good decade old when Prompto had last seen it in middle school. All he remembered was that back then, the love story had seemed unlikely to him - the nerdy kid had a happy end, and stayed nerdy, too. It was the only movie he knew that ended like this. The nerds never got a good relationship, and if they did, it was because they cleaned up nicely, and they had to take off their glasses first. _Just like in real life._

Maybe seeing this particular movie was the first mistake. Maybe the first mistake was going for drinks, afterwards. Not much, just one or two, all moderate and sane, nothing Gladio would kill him over, but enough to make them giggle a bit more, and talk a bit louder. Maybe that was okay, too, and the first actual mistake was crashing at Iris' place.

Because he must have made a mistake _somewhere_.  
  
Prompto slept, and Prompto dreamt. Dreamt of the water and the dark, and things forgotten.

_He is floating._

_Floating, and holding on to a body he knows inside out, letting his hands run over the smooth skin, lingering where he knows it feels just right. Touching those sharp hip bones, digging his fingers in gently, feeling the movement, shivering as tiny sighs hit his mouth, and then they kiss, and it tastes like home. So thin, so fragile under his fingertips, and he can feel the ribs, the hard bumps of the vertebrae, and he wonders if he is a weightless as him, and then there is weight atop of him, sliding down his cock, and it is smooth and tight and oh, this feels so good, don't stop, don't ever stop, and his hands are running over his back, and he bows down and they kiss again. Salty wetness upon his skin, and they are crying, and suddenly there is a name in his head, or did one of them say it out loud?_

Noctis. My prince.

_“Yeah... your prince...” he breathes, and decides to pretend, just for this one night, teases the body upon his like his love used to do, and he breathes like him, thrusts like him, holds onto those protuding hip bones and feels the sweaty skin._

_And suddenly, things are over. The dream remains, a fog over the waking world, but the other body is missing._

Prompto opened his eyes. A low ceiling, and street lights flickering across it. It took him a few moments to reorient himself, for the fog to clear, and understand where he was. Iris' flat. Everything smelled like her. He was undressed, and everything smelled like her, himself included, and the dream still lingered, and she was nowhere to be seen. _Oh, Six._

He hastily grabbed his pants, put them back on. “Iris?”

There was a sound from the bathroom. Sobbing. _Oh. Six._

Prompto got up, stepped over to the still open bathroom door. “Iris...”

He didn't know what to say.  
  
She sat on the toilet, huddled up into a tiny ball, arms around her knees, and she was rocking slightly, trying to soothe herself. She was so _thin_ and so _pale_ and reminded him of a tiny bird with broken wings.

He had a good idea what had happened - but not good enough to deal with this. Still, he had to do something. At least say something.

“I'm sorry.”

One of her hands waved a little, waved him away, or him being sorry, and there was a tiny pause in her sobs, like she was trying to say something, but could not manage. Prompto made half a step to the side, and leaned against the door frame from the outside. It was the best he could do without leaving entirely, and unless she told him to, he wouldn't do that.

“Prom?” She had needed a small eternity for that word, and then added another. “Hug?”  
  
He exhaled, the word more of a relief than he would have been able to voice at that moment, and then did as he was asked, crouching down in front of her and pulling her close. Later they managed to get into the bed again, her unwilling to let go, still full of tears and fear and pain. It was only later that she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, diving into uneasy dreams. Prompto let her hold on, didn't get up even when she fell asleep, and he still lay awake, feeling hollow.

Later, when she woke up, her eyes still red and swollen, she had a long shower, long an hot enough to fill the little apartment up with steam. She brewed them some tea, black and with way to much sugar, and she sat beside him in her bathrobe, drinking it without speaking. Prompto sipped his tea. The silence dragged on. There was a question on his mind, had been since he had woken up, that had been growing more insistent when the shower had taken longer and longer. When his cup was almost empty, he finally asked - tried to ask.

“Did I... I mean... I didn't...?”

Couldn't ask.

“Maybe it's better....” She didn't look at him, spoke to her mug, and she tried her best to sound happy. “I've got things to do today! Gotta meet up with a friend, and we'll...”, her voice failed. “See you soon, okay?”

“Yeah.” He set the cup down and switched the smile on again, the one matching hers. “I should get going. You...” He faltered. “Take care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iris and her backstory are heavily inspired by LadyProto's Lolita series (http://archiveofourown.org/works/10510383/chapters/23194302).  
> A highly recommended read that really left an impact even on my jilted mind, but be warned that this story deals with child abuse and does so... well, I needed to take breaks while reading, because I suffered with the poor girl.  
> Do mind the tags.  
> If it's too much to stomach, let's just say it's about a certain Mr. Izunia being a horrible, horrible person once again.
> 
> But now, on with the show,  
> Verdin


	10. In which an albatross flies

Prompto returned to the restaurant, hoping to be able to beeline around Weskham and possibly Cor. He didn't want to see anyone else today. He managed, not because of his superior skills, but also because neither of them was there, which was business as usual for Cor, but a rarity for Weskham. Then again, he probably had business to attend outside his restaurant to every now and then, and the timing just couldn't have been better. Prompto clicked the padlock shut, and curled up on the futon. His knee reminded him that it was still there, and that he had to pay for what he had done in pain. Every little thing, from strolling through the city without feeling guilty to hurting Iris. He let it. His stomach reminded him that it was still there, and that he'd had a proper meal the night before. It demanded from him to repeat that, with growls first and sharp pangs next. He let it.

It was later. Way later. Two bathroom-breaks-that-were-only-taken-when-there-was-no-other-way later, and there was a knock on the door.

Prompto sighed and rolled over. He needed to open it, that was the deal. “Yeah. Coming. Give me a sec.” He needed a few seconds more, but ultimately unlocked the door.

“Prom.” It was old man Weskham, not necessarily the person he expected. “It's a slow day down, and I expect you to take a shower and be down to accompany me in, let's say, twenty minutes?”

He had just been about to step aside and let Weskham get to his stock and crates, but instead, Prompto blinked. “Sorry?”

Weskham smiled, not even irritated. “Most of my guests have gone home. Which ain't a miracle. There is a storm coming. But I'm a man of principles, and one of them is that I'll be the last one to close shop. That also means it's a slow day down at the bar, and I could do with some company. I would like it to be you.”

“Uh...” Prompto blinked again, then his brain caught up. “Yeah. Sure. Twenty minutes, got it.”

When he came down, the bar indeed was empty. Wind was howling against the windows, and a heavy rain had started. The light in here was dimmed as far as the circumstances allowed it, and the candles on the tables were lit. Weskham stood beyond the bar, where he seemed to belong, and was polishing the already clean glasses to perfection.

Looking into the mirror after the shower had had two effects on Prompto: he looked better, and he felt worse. He never got rid of the feeling of someone else looking back at him. Whoever the tag around his neck belonged to looking back at him. Maybe company wasn't all that bad. He sat down at the bar.

“Had a hard day?” A little smile. Barkeep talk.

Prompto couldn't help the quick snort and laugh that came out. “Yeah, kinda.”

A glass of water was placed before him. “How about I fix you a drink and a little snack first? There's no proper sleeping with this weather, is it?”

“Not really.” Blaming it on the weather was convenient, and he was grateful for the out it gave him. As for the snack - there were eyes on him, and Weskham was a good man, and he didn't want to be difficult. He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Working with Cor is not the easiest thing there is.” A plate with appetizers was placed before him, various things on white bread, harmless enough for an upset stomach. “Seems he values you highly, not only because you share some things.” Liquids were poured into a shaker.

Maybe the water was a good start. Prompto drank a little, then asked, “Share some things?” He knew they did, but he didn't know which part of it all Weskham was talking about.

“Mutual acquaintances.” He gave the drink a good shake and poured it over crushed ice into to wide glasses. “That's a 'Sunny Meadow'. Bit grassy, bit herbal, bit flowery, a good starter to warm up for the evening.”

That was vague. Prompto left it as it was. "Not sure if that's a good idea." He drank, anyway. It was just as advertised. "Cor is a good guy, just needs some getting used to, I guess."

“He was a bloody brat when we met. Reckless and way too proud for his age.“ The drink felt nice in his stomach, mild and warming.

He smiled a little. “Not as hard to imagine as I'd like to pretend.”

“Almost got himself killed with that whole Gilgamesh-thing.“ Weskham tapped at the glass of water, just to remind the boy to drink it. “Guess he hasn't changed much, but probably none of us has. The same fools. Just with more wrinkles.“

“Seems to be some kind of requirement. 'To join the Crownsguard, you must be this tall, and not quite right in the mind.'”

“Who else would go for a job working 24/7, putting your life on the line for somebody chosen by some entities?“

“If being in love counts as being out of your mind? Nobody.”

“Guess for him, that came later.” He finished his drink.

So did Prompto. “I was afraid you'd say that.” He finally went for one of the snacks.

“Ah, they were so sweet. Even waited til Aulea was no longer with us and a year more. Sunny Meadow something you like?”

“Yeah, it's good.” And not too much. “Noct never mentioned it... He didn't talk about his dad all that much, though, so no surprises there.”

“I don't think Noct ever knew.” New liquids into the shaker, this time with ice cubes in it. “Boy is a bit blind in things that don't contain fishing, but whom am I telling that.” Shake it. Pour it into a champagne glass, fill it up with sparkling wine. “Rose of Altissia. Not my creation, but enough people ordered it that I learnt the recipe.”

Prompto grinned. “Fishing and arcade shooters.” The grin grew a little stiff around the edges.

“To lost friends.” Weskham raised his glass.

So did Prompto, repeating the toast. He fell silent after that, busying himself with the snacks, the drink, the water for a moment. “I think I sort of lost a few more tonight. Like, not _that_ way, but...” The drink was sweet and tasted like some strawberry-cream-based thing Iggy might whip up, just with more bubbles.

“You feel like you messed up, but don't really know why?”

“I know how, and I think I have a pretty good idea why.” He drank a little more. Might as well. “No details, but a pretty good idea.”

“Somebody you knew before?”

“I... Yes. Yes, definitely.”

“And you liked them, but not _that_ way and now everything is broken?“

Prompto winced.

“And everything was broken before, but now it's worse, and it feels like it's all your fault, really?“ He emptied the drink and poured himself some water.

In reply, Prompto necked the rest of his own drink. He set the glass down and nodded. “And it might be even worse than that, but I don't know, because I wasn't all there, and I just couldn't bring myself to ask.”

“Shit, son.“ The next drink was something clear and straight from the bottle. On the rocks, at least that.

“Yep. And even worse than that, but I can't tell you without actually telling you who and what, and I'm not sure that would be a good idea.”

“You sure it was your own decision? You're not the type for something like this. I'm in this business long enough to know the type, and part of the job is to make sure their date gets home safely. And from what Cor told me...“ This glass was emptied in one big gulp.

“Like I said, I... I wasn't really all there.” Prompto turned the glass in his hand a few times, then drank. “It was all good, and then I went to sleep, and I had this dream, and next thing I know...”

“Do you remember your dream?“ The stuff was in his mouth like he imagined rain should feel, clean and cool and a bit like quicksilver.

“Yeah.” He paused, and Weskham could see the mental double-take on his face. “What did Cor tell you?”

“Do you know he talks in his sleep when he's worried or stressed? That's why he rarely sleeps in the same quarters as other people.“ He refilled their glasses.

“He avoided sleeping in the same quarters as me, so far, so no. I didn't know that.” Prompto didn't wait for Weskham to drink, this time.

“He talks about shadows, tries to scream for help. There must be _things_ touching him that he can't fight, and he's scared out of his mind. Only saw him like this once, and that is years ago. He did not believe me then, and he does not want to believe me now. He's not willing to admit things get to him. Proud and stupid, still.“

“I know. I mean, I haven't seen him like that but...” He shook his head. “It's all pretty fucked up and crazy, and we... I know he's scared, and... I don't know the details, but I know why he doesn't either, and why he won't believe you, and it's all pretty fucked up. We talk. Not a lot, we're _both_ too... He's _Cor_ and for me it's all too fresh and... Can I have another?”

“And you're both idiots.“ He poured, and his assessment sounded sweet. “I guess you both slept with the same guy, and probably the worst guy on this whole planet to do that. And I guess neither of you agreed on doing that. Possible?“

“Fact. The only thing I know for sure, really. That, and that he did... something to my mind, and I half remember things I'm sure never happened. I should be sure never happened. But it really, really feels like they happened.” This drink was gone as well. “And I'm sure he did something like that to Cor, too.”

“Cor finds relief, sometimes. When he manages to make the world go away. Not with booze, if that's what you're thinking. I know he drinks too much. We all do.“ A little smile, and he clinked his glass to Prompto's.

“I was thinking that, but if that's not it... how?”

“Let's pour ourselves another one for the way and I'll show you.“

Prompto nodded and held up his glass.  
  
It was back to mixed drinks again, and in his glass this time was something blue and coconutty that reminded him of a day at the beach at Galdin Quay, when they sneaked away while Noct was fishing and helped themselves to some drinks on his tab.

Down to the cellars they went. Weskham told the folks that kept shop downstairs that they'd been gone for a few minutes and they could go and help themselves to the prepared snacks upstairs.

Prompto followed. His teeth were buzzing, and the world had a light tilt to the front and right that he didn't really mind all that much. It just meant that he was concentrating on walking more than his surroundings for the moment.

“You know how the drink you're holding is called?“ Weskham asked as he unlocked the metal door to the cellar. “Swimming pool.“

Behind the door, one single large room, the walls painted as a sunny day on the beach. A little bar even down here, hidden in a corner a little bathroom, and in the middle, dark blue like its tiles, a _pool_.  
  
Swimming in open water was not exactly recommended these days, and with places that had enough clean water and energy left for something like this narrowed down to precisely _one_...

“Holy shit," The words were out before Prompto had even finished the thought. "This is fucking amazing. Genius and fucking amazing.”

“Salt water. Really salty. Helps to keep you afloat. Great for the back of an old geezer.“ He grinned. “Trunks are over there, if you wanna hop in. Hells, go in butt-naked, for all I care.“

Prompto opened his mouth to decline - any state of being less dressed than he was right now with almost anyone around was an issue, anyway, even more so than usual recently - and then realised in the same breath that he was, one, too drunk to give a damn, and that two, Weskham didn't really count, which could probably be chalked up to point one. Before he really knew it, he was in a pair of slightly baggy borrowed swim trunks, in a swimming pool, with a swimming pool still in his hand.

 _Floating_.

Floating _on_ water, though, that would get in his mouth and nose sometimes, that was salty enough to sting in his eyes a little. Reliably real water, different enough from the dream sensation to put him at ease.

“Nice, ain't it?“ Weskham had sat down on a lounge chair at the poolside. “Had one of those in Altissia. Well, not as large, but way prettier. When Cor has a really bad time, we went there, and he plugged up his ears and put a mask over his eyes, and I helped him float. Still works like a charm.“

“Glad he's got you, then. He's been dealing with this shit for so long, I don't know how he does it.”

“Stubborn as a mule, that boy. And he ain't dealing. He's ignoring. Don't be that guy, buddy.“ He laid back in the chair.

“It's kinda hard to deal if you don't know what you're dealing with. That's half of the problem of getting fucking mind raped and having your memories of it locked up.” Prompto knew it was true the moment he said it. Choice words, though, still a little sticky and ugly on his tongue. He looked at the glass. Almost empty. “Whoa. Sorry.”

“Never be sorry for the truth, buddy. When a barkeep can't handle the truth, he's not cut for his job.“

“Mmm,” Prompto made, and emptied the rest of the drink. He had comfortably reached the point where he could listen to himself talk, and distantly wonder about the things that came out of his own mouth. “Just feels like, I don't know, what's the truth, anyway? I mean, I still got his dog tag, but if it's all in my brain, where does that thing come from? Does that mean he didn't exist? And it was that lab, I remember that, too, only the lab was in Gralea, and I'm pretty sure that's more than a day's travel, and they were never the same place, anyway.”

“ _His_ dog tag? Friend of yours?”

“Brother, technically.”

“Close your eyes. Feels nice, doesn't it? Take a deep breath. It's like a day at the sea “ Outside the pool, Weskham went to get the remote for the sound system, and soon the room was filled with the whispering of wind and waves.

“Yeah, I'm talking too much... Sorry... When I drink I get... Sorry.” He listened, instead, and closed his eyes. It _was_ nice. Almost real, if you let it be. Surreal, between the alcohol and the places his mind had been going and the rest of the day.

“I like to imagine I'm flying. Big old albatross, gliding through the air without moving a muscle, wings spread wide.“

Prompto grinned to himself. The mental image of Weskham as a huge bird was just too funny, and odd enough to distract him long enough to let go of the thought he had been holding before. He kept his mind on the recorded waves as well as he could. He only noticed just _how_ tense he had been when his muscles finally loosened up a bit, how much of his pain had been that tension when it receded. He sighed. Warm, and completely smashed, and _just don't start thinking again now_.

“There's a boy on the beach, over there. Blond hair and freckles, and you can hear him complaining about the wind ruining his 'do. He's walking somewhere, and you decide to follow.”  
His mind was used to suggestions, instructions, made to be quick to comply, and for the fraction of a second, Prompto was all too aware of that - but he was relaxed, too, and as safe as he could be, and Weskham's was voice friendly enough, non-threatening.

_So there is sun on his back, and salt on the wind, and warmth on his back, as he decides to follow the boy on the beach._

“His steps are fast. He's not taking a walk, that you know. Is he going somewhere or has he just left?”

_Prompto keeps following as the pace gets quicker. The boy's eyes dart left and right, and he knows what is going on a moment later._

“He's looking for something.”

“You circle around him, high in the clouds. How does he look? Is he happy? Is he sad?“

“Sad.” _He knows that look. “_ Scared. He lost something.”

“What is he wearing?“ Weskham was slowly wandering around the pool now.

_He tries to tell, but it's hard, it changes when he blinks, or when he looks too hard._

“I don't know. Armour. Some kind of gown. Patient gown. I don't know.”

“Do you want to help him? Your eyes are better than his.”

“He just takes his contacts out at the beach.” Prompto smiled. It made sense in this moment. “Should have done that, too.”

_Still, he looks around, even if he isn't sure yet what he's looking for._

“It's getting colder...”  
  
“Is the weather changing?”

“Clouds gathering. It'll snow.” _It's an understatement. The sky has gone solid white, maybe has been before, and there are ice crystals crackling over the low waves. The one he is following is getting nervous, and another realisation dawns on Prompto._

“It's in the water. What he's looking for.”

“Does he want to get into the water?”

“Yes, but it's freezing over.”

“Your wings are huge. Big enough to blot out the sun, big enough to keep the snow from falling for a little while.”

“Not long enough...” _The small waves close to the beach are still in motion, and the boy is knee deep in. They both know that the important treasures are further away, where the crystals have already taken hold of the water. He could get there, but he would have to swim, dive underneath the ice._ “He's scared of drowning. It's too far out.”

“He's not alone. His brother is with him.”

 _That easily explains why he couldn't decide what the boy was wearing. There's two of them, identical twins, one armoured, one in a gown, holding on to each other for warmth and support. They take a few tentative steps, but the water is deep, and dark, and so cold._ “They're trying.”

“They might try to ask the ice for help. They say she is full of mercy.“

“She took it.” Whatever _it_ was, Prompto knew this with certainty.

“Did she steal it or did you want her to take it?”

Silence. There was no clear answer forming for this question, the words wavered around it. The next certain thing he could say was, “She meant to be kind.”

“You move your wings. Glide on the cold air, higher and higher. Leave them behind, leave the beach behind. Higher than the clouds. The sun is warm on your feathers.“ Weskham poured himself a new drink, some amber liquid. “When you open your eyes, you take this warmth with you. You will feel safe.“ A slow sip. “Open your eyes.“  
  
Prompto did. The world was still soft, and warm, and a little fuzzy around the edges, just as it had been before.

“Next drink: A brandy from Insomnia, older then you are. If you could just drift over here?“

He could, and he did. “Mh. You sure? Seems pretty much wasted on someone who's... already wasted. And not quite sure what just happened.”

“Neither am I, to be honest, but it looks like you were touched by one of the Six, and that deserves something special.“

Prompto nodded, and accepted the drink. “I guess 'it's complicated' doesn't even start to cover this.”

“Ah, but it's a classical start. Cheers.”

An educated palette would have written home about the things it found within the oily liquid, and Iggy would have shed a tear or two, but all that Prom could say was that this was really really tasty, and that seemed enough. “I just... I don't know. Maybe once I've sorted this out a bit I can help Cor with his stuff. Maybe Iris, too.”

“Was Iris the mess you made?”

“Fuck.”

“Always thought she'd break the neck of anybody who'd dare to try such things.”

“Maybe. I really, really don't know. It was...” It was so easy to talk right now. “I had this dream about Noct, and I wake up and it's pretty obvious we... and she's crying. That's all I've got.”

“You slept in a tent. With three other guys. One of them you shared the sheets with. Did that ever happen before?”

“No. Never.”

“And you prefer boys? Or do you just prefer _Noct_?”

The blush that came on reached from the tip of his ears down to his shoulders. “I like both, in theory, but... mostly it was just him, really.”  
  
"Hrm." He turned the glass in his hands. “Shall I go and talk to her? Even though I'm probably not the right person to do so. Do you know if she has friends?”

“I... don't know all that much about her, anymore. I used to. It's just been a few very long years since Insomnia.” He sighed. “And I don't think you should, because I think I should grow a pair and do it myself. I just... She's Iris, y'know? In my head she's this tiny thing that tried to tag along when Noct and I went to the arcade.” Another sigh. “Gladio is going to kill me.”

“Let it be her decision if Gladio needs to know this. She's grown up enough to live on her own, and she's definitely grown up enough to decide whom she sleeps with.”

“I sure as hell won't tell him. Because he would kill me anyway.”

“Must be hard being being born into this family. Clarus wasn't necessarily the paradigm for a good dad, and she has some really big shadows to stand in.”

“Demanding father, busy mother, overprotective brother...” Prompto hesitated for a moment. Even after all these years, that level of family involvement was something alien he had a hard time wrapping his head around. “Yeah. Sounds pretty tough.”

“All of them were busy.” Weskham refilled his glass. “I offered to take her in after I quit, but Clarus didn't want that. The girl belongs to her family, even if they were close to forgetting her birthday more than once. She was begging for attention like a starving kitten.”

That he could relate to, as much as he disliked admitting to it. It was probably why she had often gotten his attention, at least when he hadn't been too busy being seventeen and in love. The piggy back ride, you can have the player one controller, want to join us on the ferris wheel kind of attention. "It's tough. I mean, yeah, she was, but she also _is_ an Amicitia through and through, so..."

“Or she tries her best to be one. It's not like she had a saying in it.“ Weskham sounded strangely resignated

“You think someone got to her over that?”

“Getting to her as someone that pretends to care, calling her princess and being in the right age range? Shouldn't be too much of a challenge if you know what you're doing. Kids her age aren't necessarily known for their wisdom, and some of them have 'prey' written on their brow.“

“Yeah. Somebody hurt her, and I seriously want to hurt _them_ , but instead I hurt _her_ , and that just wants to make me want to hurt...” He stopped there.

“And in the end, everybody's bleeding in their corner. We'll find a better way. One with less pain and nightmares among the path.“

“Sure hope we do. Talking to her is probably a good start, hm?”

Weskham didn't seem too happy with this thought. “How about... you invite her here, and we talk _together_?“

“I think,” Prompto said, looking at his once again empty glass and nodding slowly, “I'll bow to your wisdom.”

“Alright. There is just one more decision to make.“

“And that's...?”

“How drunk do you want to be before you try to sleep?“

“This is... a lot better than earlier, but... pass-out-drunk is probably still the way to go tonight. Sorry.”

The barkeep nodded. “You can have my bed for this night. No need to ruin the little relaxation your body got by sleeping in the attic.“

“It's cool, I can ma-- whoa.” Prompto had just pulled himself out of the water, and his body's quick discussion with gravity stopped his protest immediately. “Okay, thanks, yeah, I'll take it.” Getting _up_ to the attic was hardly an option already, and if he was planning on adding to this...

“Take your time.“ Weskham wrapped him in a giant towel, rubbing him dry like you would with a child that finally was willing to leave the pool because it was getting cold and everybody else wanted to go home. “Have a glass of water first, then you can get dressed.“  
  
It was nice - someone touching without ulterior motive, caring without making demands beyond “eat your snack” and “drink your water.” It had been quite a while, and it was a little embarrassing just how much he needed this. He'd make this up to Weskham at some point. Right now, though, he just ate, and drank, and somehow wriggled himself back into his clothes.

“And now let's get going. We got some serious drinking to do.“

 


	11. In which a boy enters the stage

The hangover was surprisingly manageable, probably because of all that water Weskham had made him drink between drinks. He was still rather relaxed, and he didn't feel like curling up and dying, which was as close to 'good' as he had gotten in a while. He decided to pay the old man back by taking a broom to the front entrance of the restaurant. The storm had left clumps of sand and small debris there. Getting it out of the way wasn't a huge chore, but probably a lot easier for someone with a (today thankfully mild) ache in his leg than someone with a bad back.

“Excuse me?” A gentle voice behind him. “I think I'm lost.”

As Prompto turned around, he looked into a shy smile and friendly hazel eyes. A young man about his age, maybe slightly younger, the dark hair done up in a bun. He was soaked to the skin, and the black leather jacket hadn't been enough to keep the storm away from him. Tight ripped jeans and boots like Gladio wore them, hardly laced up, and a dirty grey shirt with a wide collar. He wore a giant backpack, some military thing, and it seemed way to heavy for his slender frame.

“Hey.” Prompto returned the smile. “Whatcha looking for?”

“A place to stay, if I'm perfectly honest. The folks I was supposed to stay with are...” he rubbed his face with a bony hand, “...well, they are not here anymore, and somebody else lives in their place. A whole family of somebodies, and I didn't want to upset them. But a place to dry down would be neat. Think I can use the restroom here?”

He had been thinking army or hunters, but this was a sadly common story, too. “I'm sure the owner won't mind, he's a decent guy. If you've got some gil left you might wanna go for lunch, too, the food here is really good.”

“That's... I can't, I mean...” Prompto saw him blushing. “Thanks, okay? That's really kind of you, but I'm...” He couldn't decide between 'not hungry' and 'kinda broke', so his words trailed off.

“Don't sweat it. That's what the gil are for. The lunch menu is pretty affordable.” He couldn't help himself. “If you _don't_ have them you could always ask Weskham if he needs help around here. I mean, I can't guarantee anything, but I doesn't hurt to ask.”

The boy bit his lip, averting his eyes. “I'll... I'll find something by myself, okay? Not good with that whole 'kindness of strangers'-thing.” His hand was fumbling with his collar bone now, and he tried a lopsided grin.

“Which... I'm totally not doing.” Prompto sighed. “Look, I can totally get behind not wanting to ask for stuff. So... Just putting out there that what I just said is a thing you can do, and if you don't wanna, the hunters got a newcomer camp down by the main road. The basically assault you with blankets, so you won't have to worry about asking.”

“Down there?” He pointed in the general direction. “Got it. There's one thing I might ask of you though. Which you totally can deny.”

The way he touched his hair, that shy, half-hearted grin, it reminded him of somebody. He left the memory where it was. It hurt too much. Still, he couldn't help himself. Couldn't help the smile. “Sure. Shoot.”

“Just in case you got a number or something lying around you don't need and wanna assault me with, I.... probably wouldn't try to dodge.” His ears were practically _glowing_.  
  
Inside of Lestallum that pick-up line even worked, there still was a signal. This was awkward. “That's... I mean, don't get this wrong, it's totally got nothing to do with you...”

“Hey, that's cool.” Both of his hands were raised now in defense. “You're with someone, cutie like you's bound to be, or you're just not interested, and I'll... down there, right?” His right waved to a place behind him, which was as far from main road as one could get.

“I'm... waiting for someone, yeah. Sorry. And it's the other way...”

He looked, and his shoulders slumped, and he pointed again, into the right direction this time. Walked a few steps. Turned on his heel.

“Hey, is it okay if I come by in a few nights, just to say hello and buy you a beer? No obligations or anything, you've just been the first one since an eternity that was kind to me without expecting... things.”

Prompto laughed. “Sure, that's cool. We can talk and have a drink. Just...” He waved the broom around vaguely. _Just nothing else._  
  
“Rosham. That's me.” He pointed as his own chest and almost managed to stumble over his own feet as he tried to get into position. Not a name from the area.

“You... you're around? I mean, like here? And I just ask for the nice fellow with the broom?”

“A lot, yeah. I'm Prompto. Go find the people with the blankets, Rosham, yeah? Before you catch a cold.” The smile grew a bit wider. “See you around.”

“Prompto. Prompto. Got it. You have a great day. Thingie. Time, okay?“ He waved, lanky and high like a beanstalk, having totally forgotten about wanting to change. Prompto saw the skull that was scribbled with marker on his backpack as he turned around. “Love and peace“ was written under it.

 “Damn.” Prompto almost stumbled over the broom on his way back in. A beer and a chat? Yeah, anytime. Anything else... He couldn't. Why was the world's timing with these things so awful?


	12. In which there is piano music and a team arrangement is made

Cor felt out of place here. The cramped space of the city, the smells and the noises were things he always tried to avoid. It put him on edge.

When he was on duty at the palace, that was a pro. It made him very aware of everything, but in a city that was so very full of life and noise and waste, it was close to painful.

So this was the place Clarus' little daughter called home? Her father wouldn't be happy if he knew. His sweet little girl in a vermin-infested shithole with nobody to take care of her. He carefully stepped over a ragged dog that lay on the stairs, and the sorry creature hardly batted an eyelid.

The red wooden door that marked her flat was barely a barricade against anything, let alone against someone who really wanted to get in. He knocked gently, the rhythm the one Clarus taught his kids meant 'A friend'.

It didn't take long til she opened the door, and Cor averted his gaze.

“You may want to put something on, Iris. More than this.”

And she did, even when it was just a oversized shirt.

“You have not been waiting for me then, but for...” It didn't take long to add one and one, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Prompto. Is that it? The two of you?”

As he looked up, she sat on her bed, feet neatly on the ground, and she chewed on her nails, her eyes big and wet. “Don't tell Gladdy. Please. I'll do any...”

He shook his head. This was a bad dream. A totally new topic for one, but a bad dream. His hand reached for the flask under his jacket, but he couldn't drink in front of the kid, so it remained there, tugging at the fabric.

“Shit”, he said. “Girl. Can you explain this? No details, I can imagine those.”

Tears were flowing freely now, and he justed wanted to be anywhere else but here.

“Won't tell your brother anything. Promise. Pinky promise, whatever.”

She laughed under tears, and it came out as a snort, and then after a while she told him. She told him how they were a bit drunk and maybe made out a little, and in the darkness she... and she blushed, and Cor waved that away. He really did not want those details, but a drink - he listened nonetheless. In the end he knew way too much about the girl and that she was so horribly ashamed that things didn't work for her, not anymore, and that she was hoping for Prom to return to make it up for him, and...

He finally grabbed the flask and took a swig, and she took it out of his hands and took one herself, shuddering because of the taste, and mumbled a “We won't tell Gladdy, 'kay?”.

Cor nodded while the gears turned and clicked in his head, and as he went to the bathroom to get a roll of toilet paper to wipe away snot and tears, he realized what she said there.

 _Shit._  
  
***

“Hey.“

Prompto was helping out at the bar, somewhere between waiting tables and drinking himself, when he saw him again. Rosham. Still in his shabby leather jacket, his hair washed, and in a fresh white shirt.

“You busy like a bee?“

“Hey.” He felt that small smile tuck at the corner of his mouth again. “Just helping out. How are you doing? And what can I get you?”

“Depends on how long you're helping out and what you're drinking.“ Roses on his cheeks.

Prompto laughed. “I'll be right back.”

He was, and returned with the beer they had been talking about earlier that week. He sat down opposite him. “Here you go.”

“Hi.“ A small wave. “I'm Rosham. Waiting for someone. Named Prompto. He works here and still didn't run away screaming.“

“Nope, still sitting here. It takes a whole lot more to send me running. Did the camp thing work out alright for you?”

“I made a blanket fort. Then they kicked me out for not taking things serious enough.“ He grinned and raised his beer. “To better times.“

Prompto shook his head. “Probably just because you forgot to man the perimeter. To better times.”

They clinked the the bottles and they drank. “Found a job and a place to sleep. Should probably have folllowed your advice.“

“Not happy with the job?”

He shrugged. “It pays the bills, and there's not much need for the things I learned the last years.“

“Could be a good thing or a bad thing, the way you say it. I mean, I'm not gonna pry.”

His smile looked forced. “Nothing I'd write in my CV, okay?“

 _Oh_. Prompto sighed, but the smile stayed on. “You could still ask.”

“Maybe I will. Now I've got references and all. And I can play the piano. Is that something you'd need?

“You'll have to ask Weskham.” Prompto nodded to the bar. “There is a piano, I bet he really wouldn't mind having someone who can use the thing.”

“Excuse me for a second?“

He went over to the piano, all leather and hair and long limbs, and he shot a questioning gaze to the Weskham behind the bar, and Weskham nodded, and he started to play. The piano was out of tune, just a bit, but the piece he played, a smooth, jazzy tune, brought back memories of Altissia, of a lazy sunday, smoking and drinking way too strong coffee with a stranger you took home the night before. His eyes were closed as he played, and he was getting lost in the melody.  
  
Prompto had a problem. Noct had teased him with it relentlessly, but never minded: He had always been one to fall easily, and fall hard when he did. And right now... It was the worst possible time, and he was in the worst possible overall mental state, and it was happening. There wasn't much he could do about it.

He should have left. Instead, he kept listening, and watched.

When the boy finished, there was a little applause, and he looked around. Weskham nodded, and he played another one. A variation of an old love song and a rather cheesy one, but the audience recognized it, and some of them started moving, humming along, just the tiniest bit. As he ended this time, he looked around. “Any requests?“

“Somnus.” Calm and a little sad. Prompto could never remember the composer, but he knew that it was something about old kings, something about their isolation. It was well known enough. Nobody here would mind, even if it wasn't exactly something to sing along to. He probably wasn't the only one here who had memories to go along with the piece.

The boy nodded and hesitated for a moment, his hands hovering over the keys. First, shy notes, searching the mood of loneliness and loss, clinging to another desperately, slowly rising themselves to cascades that told of honor, of pride. Prompto couldn't remember if he ever heard the song played by anything but an orchestra, but he couldn't remember if it ever had the spin of desperation this version gabe it or if it was the time and the place that added this layer. Whatever it was, it made him want to hold someone, be held, not by anyone in specific - even though Gods, he missed Noct right now, he missed him so much - but any pair of welcoming arms, anyone warm and willing to share comfort would do.

As the song finished, the boy looked at his audience, saw the severe faces all around and pulled a face like he just dropped something quite precious and quite breakable. He mumbled something and decided that something happy was in order, a sweet little pop song that was high in the charts when there still had been charts.  
Weskham came over to Prom's table and brought three glasses with him.

“You know the lad?”

Prompto blinked, sorted his thoughts out for another second, then nodded. “Well... 'know' is a bit much. We sort of ran into each other earlier this week, and uh...”

“What do you think of him?”

“I don't know.” Prompto shrugged, a tired smile on his face. “He reminds me of Noct a bit too much and I might have a crush, and I don't think that goes together all that great. Or makes for good judgement.”

“Thanks for your honesty.” He rubbed his beard. “So that's a 'rather not' from your side.”

Prompto quickly shook his head. “That's a 'not a good idea to ask me' from my side. It's not his fault I'm... damaged.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “And he really needs the job. Rosham. Is his name.”

“You understand that I'd rather not offer a job to someone that spells trouble for someone under my roof? That's why you have a say in this.“

He chewed on his lip, then shook his head again. “Look... He wasn't... well, he didn't say it directly, but he wasn't very subtle about what he does right now, either, and... I really don't want to be the guy who tells him to literally go suck a dick when he could be playing piano instead.”

Weskham drank, and he sighed. “That would still be me, so don't worry about that. How about you get to know him better, see if the infatuation remains or just vanishes when you realize that he's not your prince?“ He put the other two glasses on the table and rose. “In case you wanna invite him to something, it's on the house.“

“Thanks.”

He did invite Rosham to another drink that night. They talked a little longer, about music, mostly, and the roads, simple things, none all that personal - Prompto tried not to go there. He saw him out, as one of the last guests. “Stay safe, yeah?”

The boy hugged him wordlessly, held onto him for a little too long. Almost a head larger than Prom and thin as a twig, and he tried to smile and nod. Safe and brave.

His steps were unsteady as he left.

_Shit._

***

Cor stayed with her until the tears had ebbed, and he gently pulled away her hand as she started chewing her nails again, held it in his own, looking at the sparkly pink polish that came down in splinters, just to not have to look at her, and he caught himself scratching the chipping stuff, and she giggled, just because giggling was better than silence.

“I can do your nails, if you like”, and he was relieved that she was trying to be brave, that the kujata in the room could wait a little bit longer.

“Don't think that pink is really my color.”

“I have something that's called _gunmetal grey_. That's, like, totally manly.”

 _Well, crap._ “If it makes you happy?”

Painting a another person's nails was something for her to focus on. He watched her, the tip of her tongue between her lips, and she was working on his thumb when he spoke up again.

“There's a reason I came here.”

“Gladdy sent you.”

“Nope. He wanted me to check if you're okay, but that's not what I wanted to talk about.”

She screwed the bottle shut and looked at him.

“I've wanted to ask this for quite a while, but I didn't want you to make the same mistake as I did. Start too early. Shed blood to early.”

“Marshal?”

“I've seen your progress in training, and it would be a bloody shame to let a talent like yours go to waste. You're fast, you're quick on your feet and in your head, and you've got a mean streak that I'd love to cultivate.” Cor was on safe ground now. This was his turf.

“Are you asking me to...?”

“Work with me. Become my student. It will be neither safe nor easy, and I know I'm not the easiest guy to be around. Do not answer now. Take your time and think about it, but promise me that you _will_ think about it.”

She blinked. Nodded, in the end. “I promise.”


	13. In which a dog is found and a friendship mended

The next days, Prompto spent between waiting tables and trying to decipher the books that Cor had entrusted him with. He was starting to get somewhere, but none of the things he yielded from them were any use without further context. He told Cor so next time he saw him, pulling him out of the crowded restaurant up to the attic almost immediately to show him.

"Most of them are activity logs of some kind. These here are dates..." He pointed at the outer right margin of a tightly filled page. "And those might be coordinates, but they don't make sense. Like, at all, and I can't decipher the commentary yet, either."

The marshal nodded and thought for a while. Or maybe he was not thinking, but just relaxing, happy to be away from the world for a few minutes. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, and breathed deeply. Whichever it was, Prompto left him to it.

"Well done, Prom. So I don't have to ask you what you've been up to these days." He blinked, and the cool eyes focused on the boy. "Tell me anyway."

"Nothing." That came way too quickly. He still was an amazingly bad liar.

Cor nodded. Very slowly. Sighed. "Try again."

Prompto let his head thunk against the crates behind himself. "I spent the last week fucking up things in so many places that I don't even know where to start. It's starting to become sort of normal for me, so... nothing isn't _that_ far off."

"Start with 'So I went and met with Iris' and go from there." Cor very clearly did not want to talk about this, but felt it necessary.

"Oh Six..." Prompto let his head fall forward again to meet with his knees.

"I'd very much like to hear your version. Spare me the technical details, please."

"We met, we had a few drinks, nothing too bad... I crashed on her floor... and then..." He sighed. "It's one of those marbles things. I had a dream about Noct, and I'm not sure what I did for real while I had it, but it definitely involved sex with Iris, but because I'm not sure I don't know if she... if I..."

"...did things she did not want?" Cor finished the sentence.

"Yeah."

The older man nodded and just looked at him, waiting for the boy to say more. Quite gentle for an inquisitor, at least until now.  
  
"She was crying and..." He blinked. "You talked to her, right?"

The flask was in his hand out of sheer habit, and he drank and offered it to the boy before he nodded.

" _She_ talked to _me_ would be the accurate way to put it."

Prompto took the flask out of reflex, but then just shook his head and handed it back. "I still have all my limbs, so..."

"She was angry. Mainly with herself." Cor's fingers drew patterns on the matted metal in his hands.

"With herself," Prompto echoed. That bit of information needed a moment to sink in.

"The usual idiocy of her family. Body doesn't comply? Must be my own fault, because I'm too weak. Can't be because I'm asking to much." The marshal grunted. "Also, she thinks you're disappointment because she did not manage to make you..." He rather took a sip instead of finishing this sentence.

" _That_ is what she's worried about? This... This is all sorts of fucked up."

"Pretty much, yeah. You _maybe_ should go and talk to her. Tell her that things are okay, are still okay. And then do that damn hugging you're so good at. Then things will be tense for a while, but you'll both get over it. At least over this one incident."

"Sounds about right..." Prompto sighed again. "I sorted them by date, notes so far are in the book that doesn't look like it's been chewed by a flan. Maybe you find something I didn't so far."

And that was that.

***

Prompto rapped on her door, the way Gladio had shown him years ago. He had been in the neighbourhood, anyway, and since his talk with Cor already taken way too long to get his act together. "Iris?"

No reaction.

"Ain't home." The kid that sat next door, alternating between petting and poking a sad scruffy dog that didn't care anymore, spoke up. A dirty little street rat, anywhere between one and two handful of years.

Prompto crouched down, to get on eye level with the kid, but mostly to get in the right position for the dog to sniff his hand. "Did she say anything? Like, when she'll be back?"

A grubby little hand was stretched out, ready to take any bribe offered, and there was something cold and wet at Prom's hand for a moment, mildly interested.

"Nothing to offer, dude, sorry." He scratched the dog's chin, then pulled his hand back and shrugged. "I'll just come back later."

The kid shrugged. Why should he care.

Prompto didn't get up yet. "You alright?"

The kid stared at him, rolled his eyes and shuffled away. Weird nice guys were plenty these nights, and he was not having any of it. The dog remained, slowly wagging the remains of his tail. Prompto sighed. What had he expected? He scratched the dog behind the ears instead. Dogs were simple. He liked dogs.

When he got up to leave, the dog decided to come with him. He managed to keep up with the limping guy on his three-and-a-half legs. Quite the pair, really. Prompto didn't stop him. Willing as he was to run after him, he probably didn't belong to the kid earlier, either. Back at the Mag2, he sat down on the backdoor stairs, to pet the dog again. "I'd let you in, buddy, but it's still a restaurant, and I don't think Wesk would be too happy about that."

He wagged his tail and sat down there, and Prom didn't know a mutt could look at someone that expectantly. His coat probably was brown under all of the dust, and he had long, floppy ears and would have been a rather ugly dog even cleaned and kempt. "So much for meeting and talking to Iris... Can you be a good boy and wait here?" He was going to look for some scraps, anyway. "Wait? Yes? Stay."

He did not even try to move away. _Good dog._

While Prompto was looking for leftovers nobody would miss, he dialed Iris' number. He probably should have just called her from the start, but.. seeing her had seemed fair. It took a while before she answered, and she sounded out of breath when she did. "Hi?"

"Hey, uh... Prompto here. Hope it's not a bad moment?"

“Went on a run with... the marshal. Yeah, yeah, I'll keep on walking, yessir...“ She inhaled, trying to steady her breath. “You okay?“

"Yeah... I wanted to ask you that, really. Maybe we could talk? Like, for real. I mean, it's your decision, but I'd rather not do that on the phone and you're sort of busy right now and..."

"We probably should. Marshal said we should. You at Mag later?"

"Yeah. I'm around, you... just drop by when you're ready."

"See ya real soon, okay? Gotta run!"

She simply hung up.  
  
So he waited. The dog was a good distraction - he found scraps for him, and a box he placed a bit away from the back entrance. "Can't take you inside, but we all need a roof, buddy."

His gifts were accepted without question and with a wagging tail. It was a nice change of pace to have someone so easily pleased. "You need a bath." More chin and ear scratching. "Maybe Wesk will let me keep a pet if my pet doesn't have so many pets. What do you think? All those creepy crawlies must be super itchy." "Bath" wasn't a concept that was met with immediate panic, so he either didn't mind it or, more probable, had no idea what his new alpha had in store for him. "You smell like a dead cat. Zombie kitty dog." Prompto sighed. "I need to go get us cleaned up a bit before Iris shows up."

So this was water when it was clean.

The zombie kitty dog sniffed it, lapped some of it and soon lost interest, lying down next to the laundry basket Prom had intended as a makeshift bathtub. Just to see what would happen, Prompto splashed some of the water inside at him. He didn't react at all. This seemed firmly in the "Rain. Again. Oh well."-department. Prompto very, very slowly tipped the tub over.

Water splashed over him, drenching him like a wave an unsuspecting kid at the beach, and it released a wave of vile smell that made him doubt this dog was not already dead and rotting.  
The mutt turned his head and gave him a look that was was way too intelligent and very much said “Bitch, please“.

"Come here!" And with that, he grabbed the dog, and pulled him into the tub and the water still remaining in it.  
  
Prompto learned a lesson about passive resistance that night, and that a body pretending to by lifeless could be astoundingly hard to handle, even it it consisted mainly of dirt and fleas.

"Ifrit's hairy balls. What are you _doing_?"

The door behind him had opened, and it took one second for Iris to break into mad giggles while Cor stared at the scene in front of him in disbelief. Both of them were soaked and in tracksuits. The moment of surprise provided by the opening door gave Prompto the second of a-little-less-resistance he needed to wrangle the dog into the water. Not that it helped much. His new friend just stood there, wetter, but no cleaner.

"Bathing this dog. I think."

“You're sure? That this is a dog? Oh well.“ Cor rubbed his face. “Iris, I need you to go to market and get flea shampoo. Plenty of it. Prom, you go and get the big...“ The not quite dead dog chose this moment to shake the water out of his dirt, which resulted in a rain of fine mud. “Shit. Biggest towel. We'll carry him up into the bathroom. That mongrel needs a shower. I'll go to Weskham and deal with rhe fallout. Go, go, go!“  
  
And that was how it was done.

The dog didn't fight all that much, but he could be very heavy and unwieldy for such a lean thing. Once he was in the shower, the deal was sealed, though. Turned out that the dog was brown with white spots underneath the grime, a colour nobody would have expected to see there a few minutes earlier. It also turned out that he was quite fond of bathing if there was warm water involved.

Iris was delighted with the dog, and the dog at least tolerated with her. Prompto wondered if he remembered her, being her most outdoorsey neighbor, and still was miffed about a lack of attention, but when he looked at him, he was all tail-waggery.

Cor had vanished while they were busy fighting the grime, very discreetly this time.  
  
“Thanks for helping out." Prompto was trying to get the mutt dry now, to little avail - too much fur. "About the other day..."

“Cor told me we are both young and stupid and alone. Guess he's not wrong.“ She had started to cut the worst knots out of his fur.

"No, I guess he isn't..." That pretty much summed it up, for all things that mattered from here on out, anyway.

“We could give him a proper haircut. One the marshal would appreciate.“

"I don't think we'll get around it..." Prompto looked at her. "He still needs a name."

“When I was little, I mean, like really little, I had this rag doggy Gladdy made me in school. He says I tried to eat it more often then I cuddled with it, but they looked kinda alike. The dog and your dog, I mean, not the dog and Gladdy. I called it Patches, or maybe Mum started doing it and I did too.“

"That's cute, I like that. Do you like that, Patches?" The dog probably only got Prompto's pitch, but he wagged his tail regardless. "He likes it."

She beamed, and she hugged the boy, and then she hugged the dog, and then the boy again, and she was wet and smelled like flea shampoo. As she noticed what she had just done, she whispered something into Prompto's ear. “You have to hug me back now, you know?“

She didn't have to say that twice. "You're awesome, you know that, right?"

"Of course Patches knows that. Look at him wag!"

"Not him, silly!" He hugged her tighter. "You."

She giggled and held him, but did not give an answer.

"You're awesome and... I'm here, yeah? Ears, shoulders, lots of hugs. If you need any of that, I'm here."

She hesitated, clearly wondering about something, but then simply nodded. Kept hugging him. After a little while, Patches decided to join the fun and laid his wet head down on their knees.

That was the picture Weskham walked in on, and if he been about to protest, it died on his tongue.


	14. In which a fever and sex ruin the day

For some reason, the dog liked Weskham. It was not that he wasn't fond of Prompto, but as soon as he found out that there was an empty space under the bar where he fit perfectly and could stay while the barkeep just did his thing, Patches seemed perfectly content just to stay there and nap. Which was fine by Prompto. While he was on the move around the restaurant a lot, he didn't go out all that much. He hadn't taken all that much note of it when they had traveled through here before, but now he was very aware that Lestallum was ninety percent cobblestone, hills, and stairs.

"Prom?" It was during a slow shift when Cor waved him to the table he was sitting at. Eating food, for a change.

Prompto sat down with him. It had been a busy week, but busy was good. Not much time for thinking with busy, and not much time for wondering where their new pianist had gone.  
  
“I darkly remember you talking about coming to town to _see_ someone.“ He had something that looked like omelette filled with veggies and meat, and by the way his fork moved around in it, Prom could tell he didn't have much of an appetite.  
  
"Still on my to-do list." Prompto shrugged. It really was. Just right now, keeping busy, petting Patches, and stretching his leg out at the pool every now and then were worth more than a dozen shrinks, at least as far as he was concerned. Not even considering that the words 'Astral' and 'illusions' were part of any useful description of his problem, and that he really was not ready to explain any of that to a stranger. "You look tired."  
  
“I do?“ It seemed to surprise him, even when it was true.  
  
"Still having those fucked up dreams, right?" He had them, too, and they featured Cor more heavily lately. With all the _things_ that had been done to their heads, he wouldn't have been surprised if that actually meant something.  
  
“I... try to avoid it. Dreaming. The city isn't exactly improving things as much as I hoped.“  
  
"Have you tried sneaking down to the pool, yet?" No need to sneak, since Weskham probably wanted him down there, anyway, but this sounded a lot better.  
  
"Weskham showed you around, then?" He shoved his plate over to the boy. "Try some. Would be a shame to let it go to waste."  
  
"Yeah, he did. Helped me out with some of the dream stuff, too, that's why I was asking." Prompto eyed the food, then shook his head. "Thanks, I'm good."

"He did?" Cor waited silently.

"Yeah, he did this... I don't know what you call it, I'm sure you call it something. Like some mental travel thing. Looks like Gentiana meant a little too well, and now I got this big Glacian-shaped lock on the things that _he_ did."

The Immortal buried his face in his hands. "Sure. Why not. Those are things that happen." It sounded muffled.

"I stopped wondering about five crystalline ghost weapons and a haunted portrait ago."

“So Gladio was not joking when he called Gentiana an ice queen?“

"Nope. She's very much Shiva."

Prompto was witness to a very rare occurence: the older man's face dropped.

“Oh _well_ “, he said and ordered a drink.

"Which also means that I can't just give her a ring and ask her to undo the thing she did. But if I _do_ manage to get to her, chances are pretty good that she can help you out, too, right? I mean, we've been fucked over in more or less the same way, the way I see it."

“I can't imagine being important enough to warrant the touch of an Astral. I can very well imagine having seen something my mind very much would love to forget, and I do my best to help it along. Cheers.“

"And I'm important enough?" Prompto laughed. "I don't think important has anything to do with it." He raised his eyebrows. "I _do_ think that you'd be better off trying to get behind this, probably, instead of ignoring it. I mean, I'm not gonna tell you what to do, totally not my place, but you tried the forgetting and drinking to it thing for the better part of a decade now, so maybe go for something new?"

“Crap.“ He emptied his glass and stood up. “Gonna take a walk.“

Prompto sighed. "Just handing your own advice back to you, you know," he mumbled, but Cor had already left.

***

_The boy was right. Of course he was right. Shit. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black._

“Mind if I sneak one?”

The lanky guy that hung around outside smoking shrugged. “It's my last one, but we can share.” A short smile, and after a moment of hesitation Cor nodded.

“I don't even smoke.”

“Neither do I. Only in moments of, how do you call it, _emotional distress”_ He nodded towards the little alley next to the Mag2. “Wanna hide there for a moment? If nobody sees you, you didn't do it.” His leather jacket creaked as he gently pulled the man's sleeve, and Cor let him, maybe because he was pretty, maybe because there was something in his tone that sounded so very convincing.

They stood hidden behind a dumpster, Cor leaning against the wall, the lanky boy in front of him, trading after each drag, and Cor felt the nicotine hit the sweet spot the booze had opened in his brain, and when the boy leaned forward to whisper something in his ear, he thought he misheard, and he asked, and the boy repeated it, gently nibbling the man's earlobe, smiling as he felt him shiver.

The man counted the bills into the boy's hand, and he took them nonchalantly, offering his customer a little vial. Cor took it, opened it and tool a quick whiff, inhaling deeply, and felt his blood pressure drop and his knees get weak. The boy helped him to get rid of his pants, and he slightly stumbled as he turned around to lean against the wall, head buried in the crook of his arm.

The boy was already hard, and his dick pressed against his naked butt as he lubed his customer up with experienced fingers.

Even though the drug opened him up nicely, the boy's size was enough to make the marshal yelp as he drove into him.

“Ssssh, nice and quiet. Guy like you doesn't scream.” A bony hand pressed Cor's head against his own arm, making it hard to breathe, and he fucked him, deep and steady, smirking as he listened to the man's grunts.

 It did not take long to make the Immortal come, and as he did, the boy pulled him back onto his full length, feeling him tense and twitch, and he stifled his groans with his hand.

“Hope I'm worth my money, Mister. Gonna leave my card in your pocket, if you feel the need again.” A small kiss on the side of Cor's neck, then he let him go.

Zipped up.

And left. He had a date.

***

“Rosham, hey! Are you okay? Haven't seen you in a bit and... you know. It's been a few ugly days outside.” One of the main lines at the outer city limits had broken earlier that week, and daemons had been all over the darkened streets within hours. The damage was repaired now, but there had been casualties, though not as many as the hunters had feared at first. Three dead, four missing, eight injured.

“I'm getting by. Don't you worry.” The boy beamed and placed a kiss on the top of Prom's head before he sat down. “And how about you? Something's...” His hand swayed through the air, “...different about you, ain't it?”

“Not really, no. I think?” He blushed at the kiss, they were only just barely at that level of casual touching. “What do you mean?”

A shrug with bony shoulders. He had taken off his leather jacket. “Just a hunch. Something's different about your face. You angry about something?”

“Angry is a bit strong. Worried, maybe.” Cor had left more than enough of his food. Prompto pointed at it. “If you want some, feel free, I'm stuffed.”

“Cool.” The idea of free food seemed quite appealing to him, and he dug in without asking for a second time. “And why are you worried?” At least he had the decency to swallow before opening his mouth to speak, which was more than could be said about Noct.

Prompto sighed and smiled. “Because--”

A low growl from the bar interrupted him. “Patches, what's the matter, boy?”

The growl continued. The dog's eyes were fixed on their table - nobody at the door, then.

“Didn't know you had a dog.“ Rosham didn't seem too scared by him.

“I didn't when you were here the last time.” He knit his brows together. “Are you sure you're okay?”

"Maybe he doesn't like the fragrance I'm wearing? I'll just take this with me and wait outside for you, if that's okay."

“... sure.” The frown didn't go away. Something was going on, and he wasn't sure what it was.

Rosham wrapped the food into a napkin and gave Prom a strange look. “I may have an idea what he doesn't like about me. Might be a problem.“

“What do you mean?”

“Knew a girl with a cat once. Went mad every time we... you know. Even when we were somewhere else and she just, dunno, smelled it?“ His grin was apologetic. “I'll just wait outside, okay?“

That didn't feel right. He knew this, he could not place it any better than _familiar_ and _not good_ , though. Prompto followed Rosham outside a few moments later. “Sorry about that.”

“It's not your fault. Like, not at all, okay? Maybe I should just leave. Nothing gets between a boy and his dog, and I'm... probably no decent company anyway.“ He bit his lip. “Thanks for the food, Prom, and your time.“

Prompto took his hand. Gently - if he wanted to leave, he could leave. This was such a bad idea... “Just... if you really want to go, okay? I wouldn't mind if you stayed a bit.”

Rosham looked down on the hand around his, and blinked hastily, swallowing back tears. “This probably... isn't a good idea...“ Still, the bony hand remained where it was, dry and hot and feverish.

“No, it's not...” Prompto was looking up at him now and tucked his hair behind his ear. The loose strand was like silk on Prompto's hand, but the skin beneath it was definitely too warm. “You still need a place to stay, and...” He couldn't let him walk away. Not with everyone still half panicked, Rosham sick, and the weather as unsteady as it was.

”I'll get along. Catch a few hours of sleep. Hot shower. World will be a different place then, and you don't have to worry. Shouldn't do that 'bout me anyway, you hear?” He turned his head away, unable to look at the blond.

“Yeah, you do that... and you do that where there's a roof and four real walls, and someone who gives a shit. Please?”

He tried to nod, but it didn't look too credible, and he pulled up Prom's hand, placing a kiss in the palm that did not last longer then a heartbeat. “I'll...just go”, he mumbled, and that he did, not daring to look back.

“... I meant here. Stay, please?” He couldn't just let him go like that. He couldn't. “Rosham?”

It was after three steps that the boy came to a halt. His shoulders were slumped, a kid waiting for punishment. Instead, Prompto caught up, and pulled him into a hug. Rosham melted into his arms, and Prom felt the tension slowly leave his muscles, and he felt his knees give in for a moment, but he steadied himself just in time, and he tried to get away, weak as a kitten. Prompto led him inside, and up to his corner in the attic, with one arm still around him and very little room for argument. If Rosham seriously tried to pull out of the hold, he would let him, but token protests, he just took note of, and then ignored them. You couldn't live around Ignis this long and not learn a thing or two. And whatever the boy tried, serious it was not. Maybe because he was too ashamed to cause a ruckus, at least that's what he kept mumbling between countless “Sorry”s and “You don't need to...”s. Whatever held him upright during the last hours was spent by now.

“Don't worry about it. Eat, okay? You need it.”

He sat down on the floor and ate. Even managed half of the portion. “You've got your own room“, he marveled as he stretched out on the floor. “Bet you could see the stars through that window. I mean, if Lestallum ever slept.“ He pointed to the little window in the ceiling. “Can you get on the roof through there?“ A questioning gaze to Prom, his eyes huge and shiny.  
  
And if the stars weren't slowly disappearing. The brighter ones were still visible, away from the outposts, but that, too, was only a matter of time. Even the moon was growing dimmer by the month. Prompto decided to keep that to himself. “Yeah, probably. I haven't tried.”

“We should try that. Now.“ He tried to get up, but his legs failed him. “Later. The roof will still be there later.“

Prompto smiled. “Yeah, it'll be there, later. Now, you lie down and get some rest. I'll get some more water and blankets. Would be cool if you were still here when I come back. That alright with you?”

“I'll pay you back...“ he murmered, eyes already half closed, rolling hinself into a Rosham-shaped croissant.

“Just get better, that's enough.” A kiss on the cheek, and Prompto tucked him, then disappeared to do as he had promised. When he came back, the boy was on his back, fast asleep, arms wrapped around himself. His hair had become undone and was around his head like a messy black halo. How old might he be? There wasn't even a shade of a beard on his face, but then growing one was something Prom himself struggled with. He let him sleep, and curled up next to him on the futon. There wasn't much room, but then again, neither of them needed all that much of it.

***

Cor Leonis crashed that night, and he crashed hard. That was not a thing that happened in years. Only once, after Regis' death, and that was a wake, and he wasn't alone in being drunk to oblivion, and there were tears and stories. This time, there were neither, only some untargeted anger he carried out into the city.

He went for a walk and drank some more, then got into a fistfight with another, equally angry guy, and none of them knew how it started, and they both weren't sure who won, but they decided to tend their bloodied faces with more alcohol, liberally applied internally, and then Cor didn't remember anything else.

Cor slept, and Cor dreamed.

_He runs over the rooftops of the city, the sky impossibly clear and full of stars, and it feels like flying._

_Until he falls, that is, and he sees himself fall and crash hard onto a pile of debris that once had been a house. He hears the sick noise of his bones breaking, sees metal pipes impaling him, exiting through his flesh, sees himself struggling like an insect in the tongs of an particularly cruel collector, helpless against the pins that are driven through its limbs, and he knows it would not end there._

_The world below him takes a deep breath and starts moving, ever so slowly. Dirt and trash creep towards him, over him, like ants that found a forgotten lump of sugar, and they tear through his clothes, tear through his skin, and he hears himself scream._

***

_There is a scream outside his window, and Prompto bolts upright in the sheets. There is someone lying next to him, and the presence makes his throat seize up and his chest tight. He does not turn to look who it is, does not want to see what about the other makes him so uneasy. He has a feeling, something familiar, a flash of red, but its over before he can really grasp it. The scream outside has so much more pull on him, anyway._

_He opens the window and steps out onto the rooftop._

_The city is a breathing creature, and he sees Cor in its fangs, being eaten alive. Prompto opens his mouth to call out, and there is a taste of salt at the back of his tongue, and a sudden clarity that this is a dream. There is no need to raise his voice, it carries exactly where he needs it, effortlessly. There is only one thing to say._

_"Wake up."_

 


	15. In which a note is left and a bed is shared

Cor woke, and Cor vomited.

Everything hurt, and he had the vague feeling he deserved it. To his own surprise, nobody had taken the chance to empty his pockets. He found himself in a back alley somewhere in the city, and it looked and smelled like he had spent the night between some trashbags.

_Well shit._

Time to go home.

***

_Prompto watches the city retreat, and Cor dissolve. He remains. There is a ravine before him, and dread behind him, and he cannot proceed either way._

He woke shaking, still uneasy. There was only Rosham beside him, and the starless sky behind the window above. Rosham was in a cold sweat, murmuring in his sleep. It seemed to be a good time for nightmares. Prompto gently lay a hand against his cheek, to feel if the fever had gotten worse as much as hoping that maybe the touch would be enough to pull him out.

The boy was cooking. Wherever he was, Prom's touch did not reach that far. Maybe he should have tried getting some medication, too. A cool, moist towel would have to do, for now.  
The wetness upon his brow at least made him open this eyes, even when he seemed so very, very tired. “Sorry...“ he murmured.

“Shhh, it's alright.”

One of his hands reached up to touch the towel, or the fingers that held it there, and remained, while his eyes closed again. A faint little smile on his lips. Prompto smiled back, even when the other couldn't see it. “Go back to sleep. I've got you.”

He had been here before, said these things before, on the edge of a proper bed in an Insomnia flat, more than once. There was the urge to do as he had done before, to get under the sheets and hold on, to murmur sweet calming nothings into those ears - but this was not that flat, and this was not Noctis. The ache was enough to make him want to leave, be anywhere but here. He had invited him, though, and he had done it with the promise of care, and none of this was Rosham's fault. After a few hours, his sleep became calmer. The worst seemed over.

Prompto made sure to close the door quietly behind himself. Rosham needed rest, and he still needed to leave and distract himself from the memories. Just as well to put on his apron and a smile, and get among the guests.

Weskham shot him a questioning gaze when he came down.

“Too much,” he told him quietly when he fetched his work gear from the bar.

"Later?"

Prompto cranked up the service smile. “Yeah, later.” And off to work he went.  
  
The shift was _okay_. He wasn't focused on the service which resulted in less tips, but he didn't mess up anything critical. The accident still was in the minds of the guests, and they were silent. Drank too much, but nobody became abusive. He called it a day sooner than usual and sat back down with Weskham when the limp became to heavy to carry the orders without jostling them too much.

Weskham poured. Something straight from the bottle again. It smelled mean and herbal. "Cleans your insides, and you look like they could need it."  
  
When Weskham poured, Prompto drank, because usually, he was right. “I'm...” he started, then stopped. He was a lot of things right now. Tired, mostly, and confused. Nothing newsworthy, there.

“... kinda crushing on this little hustler,” the barkeep finished his sentence, lacking the usual mercy.

He sighed. “And running into a wall with my eyes wide open doing it, too, yeah.”

“Do you _want_ him or are you falling for his _innocent boy with a heart of gold_ -shtick?”

The drink tasted like medicine. Felt like medicine in his stomach, too. Things got slightly better.

“I... am falling for the shtick.” He groaned. “Still mostly for him looking like Noct from the right angle.”  
  
Weskham whistled between his teeth and refilled his glass. “It's days like this I thank the Six I'm not young anymore. If you just _wanted_ him, Ramuh's mighty rod, you'd be my guest. But if it's a heart thing... I'm supposed to tell you now to stop seeing him, but you already know you should, and you'll do it anyway, because you're young and dumb. Just keep in mind I'm there if you need an opinion or an excellent selection of drinks.“

“Thanks... and yeah.” Prompto turned the glass a few times. “I'm an idiot, and totally not sure if I know anymore how feelings are supposed to work. Like... this used to be easy.”

“Yeah, I can imagine that. First love between two boys, schoolyard, one being a prince that doesn't care for anything but fishes and is kind of betrothed, other one...”, he emptied his glass instead of finishing his sentence. “Easy as pie.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” A deep breath and a sigh. “I'll be upstairs, being an idiot.”

“Enjoy it as long as it lasts.” He gave him two glasses of _medicine_ on the way, to use at his own discretion.

***

The boy was gone.

On the table where Prom kept his camera equipment lay a note and some bills, tucked neatly under a lens. The handwriting was as messy as his hair.

 

  _Hey._

_Hope you didn't get into trouble cuz you brought me up here. Can't stay. Can't stand to. Being so close and chaste just is..._

_Hope the one you're waiting for knows what a treasure you are, and that he comes back soon._

_Thanks for everything, sunshine. Won't forget you._

_R._

_(Money is for food and shelter. May be a sucker, but not a leech ;))_

 

He folded the note, the bills inside of it, and emptied one of the glasses. He was an idiot, and it was better that way. He was an idiot, it was better that way, and Rosham was not Noct, and probably still sick, and what was he even _thinking_. He emptied the second glass, and started working on the notebooks. Better not to think at all.  
  
It was later, way later that there was a knock on the door.

“It's open.”  
  
Weskham, in a silken bathrobe with a paisley pattern and striped pyjamas and two mugs. Velvet slippers. He looked liked an aging secret agent that pretended to be lord of a manor to lure the villain into a false sense of security. “There were neither moans not cries for several hours, so I figured you're alone.”

Prompto snorted. “Yeah, and you won't have to worry about that in the future, either.” The books lay scattered all over the floor, and he pulled them to the side just enough to make a slipper-friendly path to the futon, where he had made his camp.  
  
“I'll give you two months til you find me someone else to worry about. Made me some hot milk with honey and figured you could use some too. Calms the nerves.” The barkeep sat down on his bedside and handed him one mug.  
  
He took it and sighed. “Thanks. And maybe. It'll just end just as quickly, because my interest in anything someone might be interested in is... pretty much zero, these days. Possibly even somewhere below that. Pretty sure, actually. Around minus five, maybe.”

“Did you throw him out?”

“He wrote me a letter that basically said he can't stick around if we're not fucking, and here's some money for your trouble.”

“That's... surprisingly honest, at least? And what you wanted, in a way, but then not?”

“Would be easier to tell if I knew what I wanted in the first place.” He closed his eyes and bit his lip. Who was he kidding, he knew what he had wanted. He just wasn't going to get it.  
  
“Does it include hugs and emotional closeness?”

“That's part of it, yeah.”

“And what else?“

“And it's stupid, and childish. And I need to get over it, because it's not happening.” Prompto shrugged, shakily. His voice cracked. “I just want Noct back.”  
  
Weskham took the mug from his hands and put it down on the floor, and he hugged him. Just held him and said nothing. A comforting smell of expensive perfume and toothpaste.  
  
The boy was shaking, and kept rambling, voice unsteady. “I miss him and I need to get over it because... look at the world, and anyway, once I got all of this figured out, I'm supposed to have my... my everything back on track and be okay. That's how it works, right? Maybe I get to cry a bit, and then I gotta be over it.” The tremor had taken over his whole body now, one hand digging into the fabric of Weskham's bathrobe. “That would be great. Can't even really cry. I wanna cry and be over it.”

“Did Cor tell you that nonsense or did you come up with it on your own? We never get over those we love, and why should we. We love them. No reason to close your heart only because it will be a while til we meet again.“ His hand ran over the bony back like it was the fur of a kitten.  
  
“Not just him... all of it. All of... this.” Prompto didn't sound all that convinced. “Sorry... I'm sorry...”

He still held on.

“Get your milk, boy. You're sleeping with me and the dog tonight. And there has always been another morn'. I believe in your prince. He may take a while to get things done, but he'll manage.“

***

"Thanks..." Prompto was holding on to his mug, and more or less mumbled into it. He had tried to take up as little space as possible in Weskham's bed, at first, but Patches wouldn't have it. The dog was now on his lap - or as much of him as it would fit - and by that forced him to take up one mutt-length of the mattress. In all honesty, Prompto didn't mind. The warm weight and calm breathing were soothing, when he himself was all raw nerve endings.  
  
Weskham's bedroom was an luxurious affair of gold and white and antique furniture that slightly clashed - much to his dismay, as he explained, but it was hard finding truly matching items these days -, the middle occupied by an enormous canopy bed. Crisp white linen sheets and only a minimal amount of dog hair. Patches had his own blanket, a woolen thing that didn't really fit in here, but he seemed to like the rough structure and the chewability.

He put the mug aside, quiet for the moment. It was empty, and something warm in his stomach helped a little. He kept forgetting that it did, or at least pretended to forget, and Weskham regularly reminded him, or at least made sure that he didn't slide away entirely. He scratches Patches behind the ears and sighed.  
  
"I was reading a book before I decided to get a drink. It was just getting interesting. I'd continue reading, if you don't mind. Or I start again and read aloud." Weskham had taken position below the covers, book and mug in hand. Judging by the cover, it was some historical murder mystery, or a bodice ripper, or both in the same book.

"Sounds good. If you wanna? I mean, start over."

"Do you kids even read anymore these days? Or is it just Queen's Nights or whatever you're playing?"  
  
"King's Knight. And I like to read, sometimes. I did it a lot more in middle school, mostly stuff about photography, but then things happened, like being sixteen, and suddenly you're out of school, and the apocalypse has kind of rolled around, and the book you were planning on reading is in a house that has a seventy percent chance of being rubble run over by daemons."

"King's Knight." He sounded disappointed and very willing to ignore the latter part of Prom's words.  
"Are you tucked in nice and tight? Patches' enough as a blanket? Alright. We're reading _The Diamond below_. A unfortunately titled tale of murder and thievery, subtitle by me." He cleared his throat.  
"It was raining, and it had been for days. The earth around the mansion had turned into..."  
  
Prompto listened for a while, but it didn't take too long before one word started blending into the other, and all he really took note of was Weskham's voice, low and reassuring. He felt the tension bleeding out of his body, and he had been holding so much of that. He didn't quite fall asleep yet, just tried to bask in this feeling of... security, like camping with the guys and Noct's old flat. Places where people wanted him around, where he could be as sure as one could ever be that nothing bad was going to happen. He gave up fishing for the word after just a few moments, it didn't really matter, as long as it was there.  
  
Some noise startled him. A soft knock on the door, then Weskham adding a slightly louder "Do come in." to the text without breaking his flow, and a door opening.

"I don't... disturb anything?" Cor's quiet voice.

"Get us something to drink and join us."

After a moment, the door closed again.

Patches lifted his head for a moment, and it cued Prompto to say, "Hey." Having Cor here was fine. Probably couldn't sleep, either. Prompto scooted over as much as his dog-blanket let him, more to signal that he was making room for another person than to actually do it. There was more than enough of that already.  
  
"He's gone. Used to following orders. Not necessarily a bad thing. Thought you were asleep already."

"Story was just getting good." A straight up lie, but a harmless one. He really didn't feel like opening his eyes or moving much. Too comfortable.  
  
"It's a delicate balance with bedtime reading. You don't want it to be too interesting, but not too badly written either."

Prompto huffed a laugh, but didn't follow it up with a reply. He was _half_ asleep, and that already made the venture a success.

When Cor returned, he brought more milk and honey, this time with a decent shot of whiskey, stripped of his boots and his jackets and came to lie with them.

"It's one of those terrible Miss Agreddir-things again, is it?"

"I liked them then and I like them now." The barkeep took a sip and continued reading. Prompto felt Cor's arm on his as he too started petting the dog.  
  
It didn't take much longer for sleep to come, and just before it rolled over him, soft and dreamless, he found the word he had been looking for:

Home.

This felt like being home.


	16. In which there is training and ramen

Cor had decided things could not go on like this. They were getting fat and lazy, and even though Weskham reminded him gently they only had been here for a little more then two months, and that Prompto's leg wasn't doing him any favors, he was hellsbent on going back to proper training. If the young gunman wasn't quick on his feet anymore, he would have to learn how to hold his ground, and all of them would have to train working _together_.

It was the barkeep who gave them the address of a gym in the outskirts of town. The owner should have a place for them.

“What a sorry bunch,” was what this owner - a short, stocky guy with very little hair, who mostly consisted of neck and shoulder muscles - had to say the first time he saw them at his door. He stepped aside to let them in. “Armaugh called ahead. You get mornings, except Wednesday. I unlock the door at five, and whatever you do, I want your asses out by nine. Locker rooms are to the right.”

Cor bit his lip, unwilling to start a discussion. Five to nine it was. Better than he expected, and he expected the both youngsters to stick to the schedule strictly.

Iris turned out to be quite happy with the daily training regimen, and he had to admit Clarus taught her well. While he had no real problem holding himself against her in most situations, Prompto was out cold within minutes in the first days. Boy had no talent for hand-to-hand combat, and while the marshal had tolerated it during his training as a Crownsguard when other options were available, he would not get away with that now. Iris was not holding back with him, joking and taunting him like her family was wont to do.

For Prompto, the following week didn't go any better. He hadn't been idle in the time since Noct's disappearance: Without him, hauling around gravity wells and chainsaws as melee weapons had become impractical, and so he had become familiar with blades. He had asked Ignis for advice, first. Earlier last year, when they all hadn't quite settled in yet, had not yet gotten separated by the necessities of keeping Hammerhead up and running. When both of them still desperately needed the validation of teaching on one side, and helping on the other. It had kept them sane, and with a little added input from Gladio, Prompto now had a good grasp of using a dagger. Nowhere good enough, though. His usual tactics had always involved providing enough distraction to get back on distance, having figured that the best defense was simply not being where the hit landed. The other thing that used to safe his ass in battle was mental quickness. That one usually came to him naturally, being present and in the moment was his _thing_ , right?

The hits Prompto didn't see coming stung more the ones he saw coming, but couldn't dodge. He was way too easily distracted - with his pain as the main cause of distraction - and far too prone to get caught up in his own head instead of focusing on the matter at hand. Additional to that his stamina was not exactly screaming marathon runner. Even with his knee out of the equation, he wasn't even sure he'd get through one of his normal morning runs.

Iris was quick in close quarters. That much he knew already, and he had thought that maybe that made their fighting styles a little closer, maybe they could help each other out without having to adapt too much. He was wrong, of course: she was a complete menace if you made the mistake of letting her get into grappling range. _Looks like you haven't lived until you have been suplexed by someone a head shorter than you._

It was _already_ tedious and frustrating, and the constant mental nagging of 'You are falling behind' didn't help, either. But not giving up was also his _thing_. Right?

It was Iris who one day brought a present with a nice little bow around it, first asking Cor if she was allowed to give it to him.

“You might wanna try these! Marshal says they might be up your alley!”

“Uh... thanks!" He carefully removed the bow and opened the package. Inside was an arrangement of smooth, vaguely egg-shaped grey objects, roughly the size of a kid's fist.

“Sweet!” No matter what type of grenade that was, those would come in handy, but against daemos? In a best case scenario... “Please tell me they're flashbangs.”

Iris beamed, and even the corners of Cor's mouth twitched a little.

Prompto grinned. “Yes! Awesome!”

“We won't be using them in training right now, but I'll go ahead and make some fakes, so you can learn to use them in close combat. And to say when you do. Don't wanna be blind, don't wanna be dead. Roger that?”

“Roger.” More likely to avoid close combat altogether, but Cor was right about communication in combat. Problem was: none of them had that particular bit down all that well.

They worked on that first.

The next time Cor brought some fake grenades and some water balloons to work on shielding their eyes in time.

“You better mop that up when you're done.” The owner pointed a sharp finger at the balloons on his way out. Prompto lifted a hand to his mouth and faked a cough to hide the grin.  
  
It took quite some time to get all of them to the point where they managed to both shout “Flashbang!” and close their eyes when they used them in close combat. Iris and Cor were both among the silent type, and Prompto's constant quips too often got the better of him. After another misplaced “Here comes the sun!” the marshal was close to exploding himself, and it was a only Iris' gamesmanship that kept him from doing so. The other issue was the “bang” in flashbang. These things were _loud_ , a high-pitched whistle to accompany the light. There was nothing they could do to prepare for that, but they had to factor in time in which they simply could not hear each other after the grenade had gone off.

Prompto was fairly sure he would get used to that rather quickly, mostly because guns weren't exactly quiet, either, so he was familiar with sudden deafening noise, and - maybe probably nobody quote him on that - it wasn't quite as bad when he turned his left ear to it. As for the quips...

He turned to Cor when he looked particularly ready to strangle him. “Sorry. I'll try to keep it down, but I can't make promises. It's just how I roll when I'm, y'know, actually rolling, and not gathering dust in a corner.”

The marshal rubbed his face.

“Listen, I don't mind you doing this, but some things need to be ingrained in the folks you work with, or there will be accidents. And you know this.“

Prompto sighed. “Yeah, I know. I'll watch my timing.”

***  
  
It was around the three weeks mark when Cor noticed a real improvement in their cooperation and not only _said_ so, but _invited them out for dinner_. Iris blamed it on Weskham's influence, but not when Leonis could hear it.

It earned her an honest snort and giggle from Prompto. He liked the idea of time spent together that wasn't pushing and shoving and trying to _function_ together. What he didn't like was the idea of doing it over a plate of probably pretty heavy food. Still, this was something that virtually _never_ happened, and he wasn't going to miss it for the world. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

To his surprise, it wasn't all too heavy, but a walk through town, visiting tiny streetfood hole-in-the-wall-things, grabbing a bite and sharing it on the walk to the next one.

“Weskham's fault, I tell you.” Iris whispered in his ear and stole the fish taco he was busy with. Prompto laughed and made a mock attempt at getting his snack back. He could totally live with this - nice and slow, nobody pushing them to do anything, not even themselves.

“He's awesome and he knows it,” he murmured back at her.

“Weskham? Fuck yeah.” Then she covered her mouth with her hand, maybe because of her language, maybe because of it being filled with fish. The fish seemed more likely these days. Patches was tagging along, and now walked very closely to her instead of Prompto. She fed him some of the taco, which caused fresh wagging. “Patches likes it too, but then, Patches sometimes eats poop, so that's probably not much to go by.“

“Poop and bird carcasses. I wanted to say 'Patches likes food, period,' but that kind of kills it."

“He likes to _eat_. That would be true.“

“Some things several times over... dogs are weird. I like them."

“How can't you like them?“ She giggled. “They're better than most people.“ That was the marshal from the front.

Patches wagged what was left of his tail and barked.

“You just had to say that.“ Cor stopped to feed him the rest of his taco and to pet him. Maybe mainly to pet him.  
  
Their next stop was was a place with noodles, a little nod to Gladio, and they took a picture of themselves, noodles hanging out of their mouths and flashing V's into the camera, to send it to him. With any luck and the right weather it would even reach him.

Among the guests Prompto spied a familiar face, chatting with an older guy, smiling and eating. Rosham. He looked tired and even thinner, and as he noticed them, he gave a discreet little nod. He knew it was none of his business, and Rosham had made his point very clear, but still... this stung. All Prompto could do was return the nod, and try not to look as hurt as he was by how things had turned out. He turned back to the other two. Tried, at least, eyes wandering off to the side here and there, and tried to rejoin the conversation. He had no idea what it was about.  
  
He caught the boy looking into their direction more than once, and the one time their eyes met, Rosham blushed, looking away quickly.

“...all the ice cream! Can you imagine that?” Iris blurted out, and Cor laughed.

Prompto looked away again, biting on the inside of his cheeks. He couldn't do this. At Iris joke, he joined in on the laughter, but he had obviously missed the cue. Rosham left before they could, being led away by the man with him, a sweaty hand on his shoulder.

 _Love &Peace_ his leather jacket said. Then he was gone.  
  
Prompto put the rest of his noodles down, and dropped out of the conversation entirely. He felt a little sick.

“Hey! You tired or what?” Iris poked him into his naked arm.  
  
Fantastic out. He took it. “Yeah, sorry, I'm beat.”

“We've been on the road for quite a while. Let's call it a night. Get Iris home and hit the sheets.” Cor was the voice of reason, as usual.

“I'm not tired at all!”

“Allow the old men their rest, will you.”

“When I was your age,” Prompto started with half a grin, but didn't get to finish the sentence. Iris punched him in the arm. Not too hard. “Ouch! Respect your elders!”

***

 “Do you have some time for me?”

“And who might this be?” The boy's voice sounded deeper through the phone.

“The guy you met at the Mag2. Left me your number.”

“Ah! The cutie! Guess I can make time for you. Shall I come to your place?”

Cor thought for a moment. “Negative. Will get a room and message you with the details. Tonight, if that's alright with you?”

“The whole night, if you're going through this trouble?”

“Oh hells. Why not.”


	17. In which philosophy is discussed

Prompto stirred his noodles. He was definitely here to eat noodles. Again. That was it. He could stomach them, the portions weren’t too large, and they tasted okay. So he ate noodles. For the third time this week. And he left Patches with Weskham, again, because the dog went crazy when he smelled them. It was all about the noodles.

The boy he wasn’t looking for sat at one of the single tables at the wall of the restaurant. Smoking. Drinking. Waiting. His bowl was empty, and had been for some time. Prompto watched Rosham watch the people go by. There was a sadness in him that didn’t show when he was talking, smiling, flirting.

But he was here for the noodles, because Rosham had made things clear, and sitting down next to him, on the floor next to his chair, still holding on to his almost full bowl, would be stupid, so stupid. He’d be an idiot to try and talk to him.

“… hey.”

“Hey.” He looked a bit caught in the act. Stubbed out his cig. Smiled. “I do like their broth. And you? Prefer the noodles?”

“Nope. Broth, too. The noodles are the same everywhere, really.” Prompto stirred the noodles, but didn’t eat. His appetite was gone again, tied too tightly to concepts of _earning_ and _deserving_ and _allowing_ , and right now, he didn’t feel like any of these applied. “I’d give you the rest of mine, but you’d probably insist on paying for them.”

“Naw. I’m over my daily allowance already, but thanks for the offer. And you barely touched those.”

“Eyes bigger than my stomach.” Prompto huffed and shook his head. “Or my allowance. Shit.” He sighed. “That was a real dick move, you know.”

“Quite the opposite, let’s be honest here.” A little smirk that didn’t wipe the shadows from his eyes.

“I wanna say ’fuck you’ but we both know that’s not gonna happen.”

“Thank you so much for reminding me. And… no. Never mind. Everything I could say would be bitter, and you don’t deserve this.” For a moment it looked like he would reach out, touch Prompto’s arm, but he scratched his head instead.

“Sorry.” Prompto stirred his noodles again, eyes fixed on the bowl. “It’s… not that I don’t want to. And you’re… It has nothing to do with you.”

“I _understand_. That is why I left. But I…” He rubbed his face. “… _dreaming_ about you doesn’t make things easier. It’s okay, it’s okay. It will pass.”

“Okay, so… basically… you want me, but I can’t handle it, and I have feelings, but you can’t handle it.”

“So, basically, I have a crush on a guy, but he’s waiting for his sweetheart who went to war and he has a truckload of other problems, and he surely doesn’t need a hustler added to the list of those. Basically.” A heavy breath. “Also, I’m doing the adult thing here and try not to run away before I melt into a little puddle of shame, because shit like this just doesn’t happen to me and…” He fumbled with his lighter nervously.

“Stop… wait. Stop.” Prompto still couldn’t look up from the bowl. “That’s… not really what it is, either. It’s… yes, there’s someone I… really want to come back, but he… it’s gonna be a while. A long while. Maybe longer than… I don’t think he expects me to really _wait_. So… no, that’s not why I… And you doing what you do, that’s not the issue, either. Truckload of problems. Yeah, okay, can’t deny that, but who doesn’t?”

“You dabble in some weird shit, and you…” The boy sounded helpless. “I’d just leave town if that was an option, okay?”

Prompto tried to breathe. His head was spinning. He really shouldn’t have started this, because now he was stuck between feeling like throwing the bowl against the wall, screaming and running away, or _having_ to prove that he was… what? Not too broken? Rosham’s last comment caught him a bit off guard, more so than the rest. “Dabble… what? What do you… _oh._ ” The books. He had left him alone with the books. “That’s not… Shit. Fuck.” He was about to drop the bowl and pass out, he was sure of that. Instead, Prompto shook his head. “Look… I’m sorry. You stay, it’s safe here, I’ll just… leave you alone, that’s what you wanted, anyway. Sorry.”

“You don’t hang out with these people, do you?”A mixture between distrust and worry.

“The opposite, really. You know anything about them?”

Rosham’s hand was shaking as he lightened his cigarette. “Shit, Prom, you can’t… this… are you trying this alone? Please, please tell me you’re not doing this alone.”

Black spots dancing in front of his eyes now. _Breathe_. “I’m not. You know something.”

“Not much, really. It’s maybe best if you forget about them.” He seemed focused on smoking now, trying to steady his hands.

“Do they know about _you_?”

“We are…,” he shrugged and closed his eyes, “business partners, sometimes. They do weird stuff, but they pay well.”

A wave of nausea on top. Just what he needed. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me.”

“I… was afraid you were one of them, but I didn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe, but I thought it would be better to leave, and…” He lighted the next cig with the one he just finished. His face was immaculate in the orange glow.

He looked younger. As young as he was, most likely. Closer to Iris’ age than Prompto’s own. “Rosham, I know you’re just trying to get by… But that’s not what you’ll get with those people. For now, maybe, but… I mean, not being _dead_ is the point of the whole getting by thing?”

Again a shrug. “I honestly think _getting by_ sucks by now. You know what you get for _getting by_? Nightmares and fears you won’t share with anyone, because you think it will hurt them less if you don’t, and everybody in this fucking city thinks so, and it’s like living between cacti.”

“Cactuars, really. I read about it… what you just said.” Prompto set the bowl down on the ground. At least he couldn’t drop it, that way. “It’s this thing, in philosophy. Cactuar’s dilemma.”

Rosham blinked. “’scuse me?”

“They’re said to live in small groups, and desert nights get really cold. So they’re all freezing if they stay separate, but if they get close for warmth, they get spiked. And people are basically the same. Is what it says.”

“They could, dunno, shave? Rub against a stone til the thorns are gone? Be very, very careful, but try anyway?”

“Yeah, I never really got behind it, either.” The dizziness and nausea gave way to a less distracting feeling of standing slightly beside himself. “I don’t think we have to hurt each other.” If that was a general statement or something more specific, Prompto wasn’t sure of himself.

“I’m already shaved, and I can be very, very careful.” Judging by his face, that was not necessarily what Rosham _wanted_ to say, but he left it standing for a while, until adding “In cactuar terms.”

Prompto snorted, then closed his eyes for a moment. “There’s… two things you’ll have to work with… one - please, please stay away from them. I can’t make you, just… ask you, really. And two – I’m really, really spikey at the moment. In cactuar terms. Think you can deal with that?”

“That depends on you, spikey person. Not so much on me.”

It was a really bad moment to make decisions. He was only half in his own head, moving his body like a complicated puppet. He made it reach for Rosham’s hand. Made it take the hand, and tug lightly, prompting him to come closer – bend or sit on the floor. (He chose the latter, folding long limbs to sit down cross-legged.) Made it lean forward into a kiss, something gentle for now, more of a test if he could even do it.

The boy did not dare to move, did not dare to breathe as their lips met. His hazel eyes were opened wide. Prompto froze for a split second, before he was sure that Rosham’s stillness was surprise, nothing worse.

It was too bad he couldn’t feel his face better than he did. Warm, was what he got, soft, nothing worrying about this. Maybe a little more of that, then. He let it linger for a moment, then let their lips part again, only to come back for another kiss, a little more insistent, this time. The boy returned this one, his lips closed and so very soft.

“Prom…,” he whispered and let his fingers run down the sinewy arm. He could feel a tingle, where Rosham touched and down his spine, feel his pulse quicken. This was good, he wanted this, he _needed_ this. His lips parted – an invitation. Little kisses in return, placed on his lips, on his cheeks. Warm breath at his ear. A whisper. “Very, very careful, little cactuar.”

The slightest drag of his hand invited Prompto to come and sit on his lap. He followed and leaned against him with a sigh, placed another kiss on his jaw.

“You know what? This time I’ll give you my number, and you ring me up when time and spikes allow it. Is that okay?” Rosham’s hand rubbed over his leg. Prompto took his hand. He meant to make it look like just an affectionate gesture, but with the sudden tension in his back, the main idea clearly was to get it off his leg. “Yeah. Sounds great.”

“Spike?” the boy asked, looking at his hand. “If so, I’m sorry.” He fumbled in his jacket for his card. _R_ stood on it, and a phone number. Handwritten, not even printed.

“It’s alright… Didn’t know that one was there.” He kissed the hand and let go, then pocketed the card when Rosham gave it to him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t they have a thousand needles or something? Might have to make a list then…”

Prompto laughed. It was easier than explaining that this particular cactuar lost needles and grew new ones at random, and had some fairly permanent impaling _spikes_ thrown in for good measure. At least that was what it felt like. “I’ll bring a pen and notebook next time.”

“You wanna leave, don’t you?” the boy asked him after while of careful hand-touching, exploring skin and gloves with his fingertips. “Because it is enough for now, but you don’t wanna say it.”

“This right now is good, but… yeah, there isn’t anything more happening here tonight.” Prompto bit down the apology that was following almost automatically. “You know, you made a really awful deal there, ’cause if you want me to call you, you gotta be there to pick up. Which basically means you can’t get yourself seriously hurt or killed, which means you gotta take care of yourself.”

“Awful, indeed.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll take the time you need, but you have to promise that you tell me about spikes and needles and do it _in time_. Don’t keep quiet cause you think it’s something you need to do for me. Okay?”

“Okay.” Prompto got up. “And I worry anyway. Stay _safe_ , I mean it. Okay?”

“You’ll have to stay safe yourself to find out.”

He gave Rosham a bright smile, and almost meant it. “It’s a date, then.”

“Nope. It’s a dilemna.” He smiled back.

“Same thing.”

“You seriously think so? Interesting.”

Prompto could feel the smile start to crack. “I better get going.”

“Before one of us loses the ’The final say is mine’-thing we suddenly started?” The boy chuckled. “Call me, little cactuar.”

Prompto just waved, and turned around, and left the last word to Rosham.


	18. In which a body is disposed of

It was in the early hours of the morning when Prompto’s phone rang, and at first he didn’t make much sense of Iris’ words. She was crying, but she was angry. Anger was very much the dominant emotion, and from what half-sleeping head gathered, there had been an _incident_ that needed _acute attention_ and why by Ifrit’s balls was Cor’s phone turned off.

The mix of emotion and what little he could gather of the message had also set his body in motion before he had processed it all – he was already getting dressed. Whatever it was exactly, there were two important pieces of information he needed, “Okay, okay. Deep breath. Where are you? Are you safe right now?”

“At home. Still. Securing the perimeter.”A deep breath. “I’m okay. Just need to get things straight. Help would be neat.”

“I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes, tops.” Ten, if he grit his teeth tried to get a sprint in. “Anything you can tell me on the phone?”

“Bring trash bags. And maybe, dunno, a saw or something.”

Three seconds. Five. “Shit. I’ll see what I can do.”

It was fairly telling that it had been easier to find a machete at the Mag2 than a meat cleaver, but it was better than nothing. Prompto was holding on to that and a roll of plastic bags when he looked Iris up and down. She was waiting for him at the door, the room behind her dark. The smell of blood was rich in the air. There was blood on her, too. “Any of that yours?”

She shook her head and pointed inwards. “He’s in there.”

And indeed he was, at least what remained of him. Prompto had seen the girl fight years ago, and if anything, she had become meaner. The guy was stabbed several times, messing up her floor and his clothing with his blood, and judging by the unhealthy angle his head was in, she had broken his neck. A look of unpleasant surprise was still on his face.

Dead bodies were nothing new to him, but seeing this one felt… off. Too close. Corpses happened out on the road, not in his friend’s flat. Fighting did not happen where they slept.

He could worry about that later.

“I don’t think we’ll have to hack anything off. If we just kind of fold it and use three bags or so on top of each other…”

“It will still look like a body. Someone will open the bags, because it’s too hard to ignore, and then there will be questions. In pieces, he’s just trash.”

“… you’re right. I hate that you’re right, but you’re right.”

Hacking a body into pieces _was_ new, and an experience Prompto could have done without. He was just about to remove the left arm when he saw the tattoo. He knew that sigil. He had looked at it over and over again in the past months.“… fuck.”  
  
Iris was trying to get the stains out of the carpet. Cold water and hope.“Use it like a lever. Cut through the sinews and…”

“No, not that, I got that… I just know what the fuck he wanted from you and we have a _problem_.” He stopped and clarified, “More of a problem than getting rid of the body.”

“Just great. Gladdy sent him to test my skills and now one of his men is dead?” She stopped scrubbing and came over to him, inspecting what had shaken the boy that much. “That’s just some ink.”

“That’s the Infernian’s mark. Cor has been after the cult that guy belonged to for a good decade, and I’ve been working through the documents he dug up since--” Prompto shook his head. “I’ve been working on them for a while. Guess he thought you were doing that, not me, ’cause you’re around Cor more than I am…”  
  
“Just great. But you know where he is, do you? The Marshal, I mean.” She poked the tattoo, a weird mixture between a glyph and a horned head, with the tip of her finger.  
  
“No, I couldn’t get a hold of him, either, and I don’t think I gotta tell you how I feel about that, with that dude on your carpet.”

“Shit. Wesk doesn’t know anything either?” She chewed her lower lip.

“I… don’t know. Things went pretty fast, I didn’t think to ask him. Gimme a second…”

He called, and a few ’yeah’ and ’right’ and an ’I’ll explain when I’m back’ later, he hung up again and turned to Iris.

“Phone’s off on purpose, Wesk says. Needed some privacy tonight for something.” Prompto sighed. “Timing is crap, but on the up side, it’s not because he’s dead in a ditch.”

“What could he need privacy for?” Iris wondered, busy with separating the head from the shoulders. She had pulled a plastic bag over him. “Think he’s got…” Her eyes grew big. “Think he’s got a date or something?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Prompto dropped the tattooed upper arm and shoulder into a separate bag and set it aside. “I mean, good for him. Not really easy these days.”

“But can you imagine him on a date? Sweet-talking and being nice and pleasant?”

Prompto started working on the other arm. “I… kinda doubt that’s what’s happening.”

“But it would be totally cute if!” The spine gave in with a sick little crunch. Cutting through the rest of the muscles wasn’t much of a problem. “And what do you think is happening?”

“Mostly sex.”

“Ew,” she grinned, “now I had to think of Dad and… ew. But Cor and… and mean, with what? I mean, whom? Does he take his swords out for drinks and cuddles?”

“People over forty fuck, too. It’s a thing.” He shrugged. “And I have no idea. I don’t think he could leave his swords at home if he tried.” Because if you’re already a festering pile of suppressed anxiety, leaving what you consider your life insurance behind… Not happening.

“I fucking know, okay?” She bit her lip and pulled a second bag over the head. “Just can’t imagine Cor does, that’s all.”

Prompto grimaced. That looked a lot like he’d hit a nerve. “Sorry.” He left it at that, because it was better than the other thing that he could think of on the spot, which was explaining how he could imagine it fairly easily. Bad idea.

“What do you think is his type?”

He thought about that for a moment while he twisted one of the legs off. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“They say opposites attract, so maybe someone soft who talks a lot. With long hair. Aaaand…mh. Girl or boy?” She went to get them something to drink and store arm and head in her little fridge.

“Guy.” Prompto sat down for a moment. “Younger, I think. Soft, I don’t know. Maybe.” Hard to tell if he needed something alike or something in contrast. Either way it was none of his business. Unless Cor was just about as clever as Prompto himself was, in that case… He really didn’t envy Weskham. Neither of them were easy to like, work with, or look after at the moment.

“Soft in character, at least. Imagine another guy like him. They’d never get anywhere.” She tossed him a can of lemonade.

He opened it, and caught himself counting in his head before he sipped. Wrong place, wrong time. And Iris was watching. “Less stuck up at least, yeah.”

“ _More_ stuck up and serious might be difficult, so maybe that’s what he’s looking for and the reason he’s still single.”

“If you put it that way… Let’s roll the torso up in a few more bags, I think there’s something other than blood leaking out there.”

“Shit!” She tried so in a hurry. “I liked that carpet!”

Prompto helped her, but the carpet was done for, anyway. “You’d think people would at least stop fucking things up when they’re _dead_.”

“At least you can’t really blame him anymore. I mean, if he came in just to shit on my carpet, I…” She swallowed hard. “He _really_ shouldn’t have just come in here, I mean…” It was only now that the tears came back.

Prompto gently pulled her into a hug. With the worst in bags and both of them covered in all sorts of things, anyway, they had that moment. “No, he shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Bet he’s more than both of us,” Iris sniffed and giggled at the same time. “Dad would kill me for not getting a proper door, you know?”

“You probably _should_ invest in a better lock.” He still held her.

“Think I can stay at Wesk’s for a while? Just til things are cleared?”

“He’d probably kill _me_ if I said anything but ‘I’ll help you pack.’”

***

The hotel was a discreet little affair, run down even before the end of the world. Rosham was fashionably late, sitting down at the table at the bar Cor and his drink occupied.The light here was low, and those desperate enough to drink here instead of going out into the living, breathing Lestallum were a silent bunch with tired eyes and grim faces. The marshal fitted right in.

“I’ll take what he’s having,” the boy ordered and ended up with something very potent with very little taste.

“You’re looking tired, old man. Sure you’re in the mood?”

“It helps me relax. Sometimes, at least.” Cor finished his drink in a single swig and ordered a new one.

“As you like. Talking of _like_ : Anything special on the menu today you'd like?”

The man waited until the waiter had disappeared again, then softly answered, and the boy leaned forward to make sure he understood. Still, he blinked.

“Sorry? Could you repeat that?”

“I need... I _want_ you to hurt me. If you’re okay with that.”

Rosham smirked, and his eyes lit up. “And your limits are?”

Instead of an answer, he just got a shake of the head.

“Bottoms up, we got things to do. Safeword is _Insomnia_.”

 


	19. In which a first step is taken

Giving up the attic to Iris was well timed.

Prompto had liked to think that he had been doing better the last month or so, and that wasn’t wrong, as such. It had just been way too easy to push him over again.

Maybe it had been the emergency, or a bad night, or nothing in particular at all, but through the next week it was a chore to just exist. He looked like shit, he hadn’t slept through a whole night in ages, he hadn’t been steady enough on his feet to wait tables in days, and if he was honest, he couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. He was wearing long sleeves in Lestallum, and he was cold.

At this rate, it wouldn’t take a cultist climbing through his window.

It was a slow night when he crawled out of hiding to lean against the bar. “Wesk? You got a minute?”

“Let me finish this.” He poured the drink, and he drank it. and then he nodded. “Now I’ve got time.”

“Thanks. It’s two things, really. Both kinda boil down to ’I’m a mess and I gotta do something.’”

“New things?” He did not speak the _again_ aloud.

“Not really… except the ‘do something about it’ bit, I guess.” Prompto rubbed his face. “You don’t happen to know anything about how to… how people usually work things out with the Six? I grew up on Reaper worship and even that is sort of fuzzy, ’cause I sort of dropped it when it clicked what that stuff meant for Noct and his dad and–” He stopped himself there. “I don’t know. Incense maybe? Got something like that lying around?”

“And the second thing? Don’t ask me if I have the number of a dead Astral.”

“The number of a decent therapist would do.”

“Mh.” The barkeep nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. And, uh…” Prompto looked down, seemingly fascinated by a napkin on the counter. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

“You try your best not to vomit on the floor and pay your tabs by working. What more can I expect of an otherwise pleasant guest?” The barkeep gave a short, reassuring smile.

“Thanks.” Not that he was working very much right now, but he wasn’t going to complain. “I’ll… go try and leave a message on a divine mailbox, I guess.”

“Say… did you notice anything _off_ about Cor these days?”

“Only that it looks like he’s been getting some, to be honest. I don’t know. Sort of. I guess.” Prompto looked at the napkin again. “Been a bit too caught up in my own shit for more. Sorry.”

A slight furrow in Weskham’s brow. “Of course. Thanks anyway…and one more thing: How long do you plan to leave you little package in my freezer?”

“Plan was to show it to Cor, talk a few things through, but then… this week happened. Sorry. I’ll take care of it as quickly as possible.”

“It’s under the peas, just in case you’re looking for it.”

***

“Feeling better, cadet?” Rosham sat beside Cor on the messed up bed, sharing a cigarette. The older man was destroyed, his eyes swollen from tears and lack of air, his blood on the white sheets, but he was smiling faintly. His ever tense muscles were relaxed, and he nodded.

“You needed that, did you?”

“Didn't even know how much.”

“Cadet and king? Can't say I understand that setup, but whatever gets you going. None of my business anyway.” The boy grinned and tied back his hair again. “But you okay? Thought I lost you for a sec when you passed out.”

“Will be, will be. Just need some sleep and a drink.”

“You... yeah. Sure.” Rosham raised both of his hands, pleading innocence. “You're grown-up and all. You know what you're doing. How about we take a shower and get you cleaned up a bit? Some hot water will do you good.”

 

 


	20. In which a therapist is met

Feyna Zardenjo the small metal plaque on the white door said. It was a house in the better part of town, and her flat was on the top floor. On the phone, she had sounded quite nice. A soothing, deep voice with a very slight Accordian accent, and when Prompto mentioned Weskham, finding time for him suddenly was very possible.

Top floor was a problem today, but he had made it, anyway. He knocked, hoping this would turn out to be worth the trouble.

It took a little while until the door was opened. The woman who did so was small and wiry, in an age somewhere between Cor and Wesk, with a big smile and very white teeth. Grey curls danced over her shoulders, and the dark button eyes in her tan face watched him intently.

“You’re Prom?” Then she did something rare and simply _hugged_ him.

The moment of surprise came and went – a friend of Wesk’s, definitely. He returned the hug and smiled. “Yeah, that’s me. Thanks for making time.”

She smelled warm. Vanilla and cookies. “Come on in! You’re a bit early. Was just making tea. Do you want some?”

Her rooms were spacious and clean, filled with light and white and wood. Canvases covered in gold leaf on the wall, the irregular surface glittering and dancing with every movement of the air.

“Tea sounds great.” He closed the door behind himself. The last time he had _talked to someone_ in that way, it had been for the assessment before joining the Crownsguard. That had been an office, desk to the side, two chairs opposite each other in an otherwise empty looking room. Sure, it had looked very professional, but it had also felt clinical, and while that hadn’t been a huge problem back then, Prompto had the feeling that it would be, now. This was better.

Her kitchen was one of those open things with an isle in the middle. Pans and pots made from copper and the short idea of Iggy squealing in delight.

“Green with vanilla sounds good to you?”

He really needed to get his act together and call Iggy. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Would you prefer the couch or to sit outside? Got a lovely little garden there.”

Her teapot was a big earthen thing, very obviously handmade.

“Do you still manage to grow anything there?” The list of plants that grew outside without giant UV lamps wasn’t all that long.

“A bit of nightshade, a bit of artificial light, a bit of a green thumb.” She smiled. “It is different from what I had before the fall, but lovely nonetheless.”

“Cool. Um… I’d still rather stay inside, if that’s okay?”

“As you like.”

She guided him towards a room separated by a folding screen, some elegantly illustrated thing made from silk. A roomy couch and two chairs were waiting for them there, covered in blankets and pillows. She placed the tray on the low table there and let him choose his place.

Prompto sat on the far end of the couch, and picked up one of the smaller pillows. He was getting a bit nervous now, and it was a pretty good way to keep his hands busy.

The lady poured them tea and sat down on one of the chairs, her legs crossed. She was barefoot and in way too wide grey clothing that draped and billowed dramatically.  
“How are you, Prom?”

The smile grew wider, and he opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again just in time. He shrugged. “Kind of a reflex to go, hey, yeah, I’m great. Not exactly what I’m here for, though, right?”

“You can be great at the moment and not so much at other times. That is an option. You can be here because you promised somebody who was worried about you. That is an option, too.”

He nodded. “I’m sort of okay, right now. I mean, compared to how bad it can get, it’s alright.”

“Want to tell me why you are here?”

Another nod. “Something happened. It’s… a bit complicated. And I’m not so good at dealing with it. At all. I can’t do a lot of the things I used to do, and there’s… some things I thought I had a grip on that are pretty out of control now. And I don’t think I can get it all sorted out on my own.”

Now it was her who nodded. “Before you wonder if you can get along with me: It is okay to say _shit_ here. Or _fuck_. I know it can be hard to talk openly if you try to keep face. You don’t have to try here.”

He grinned. “I was sort of wondering…” He chewed on his lip. “Just to be on the safe side… The complicated bit of the story has royal magic and at least one of the Six involved. I promise I’m not delusional. Well, at least I know I’m not for those parts. That okay?”

“Of course it is.”

“Okay. Good.” He picked up his cup, sipped. “I’m… not really sure how to start.”

“What are the things you could do you can’t do anymore?”

“Run.” Prompto shrugged, a helpless gesture more than an ‘I don’t care.’ “My knee hurts like I had this huge accident, but nothing happened. I saw someone about it, it’s alright, physically.” Another shrug. “I had to get away from my best friends because… I don’t know. They didn’t do anything. And then there’s some pretty basic stuff. Like, drink coffee. Sleep.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “Eat.”

She nodded slowly. “Did you notice those things suddenly or bit by bit?”

“I can point at when it started, and most of it came on then. Some things came later.”

“Would you like to start there?”

“Yeah, that’s… probably not a bad idea.” Prompto thought for a moment. “The whole thing started… some months ago. Almost a year now, I think. And all I really know is that…” He could feel the blood drain from his face. “I know that…”

She nodded, her face very much telling him it was _alright_ to know.

“I know I’m missing a night,” he continued, hoping that fainting was alright, too. That was a possible outcome right now. “I know I smelled like someone else the next day. I know that… someone can play tricks on people’s minds.” He set the cup back down, better safe than sorry. “Very ugly tricks. So I _don’t_ know if anything happened for real, too.”

“You sound like you have a particular someone in mind.”

“Yeah, I know who it was.”

“An old acquaintance?”

“Yeah.” Prompto closed his eyes. “Same guy who fucked all of us over, really.”

“And yet, you are alive. Do you wonder why?”

“My guess is because he’s a sick asshole, and broken and still twitching is more fun to look at.”

“That’s not the diagnosis I would provide, but one that is fair enough for the moment.”

“He held me captive once before, and that was to play games with Noctis. So maybe that, too, on the long run.” There were a few other things he could think of, but he didn’t want to think about them. Not now. He was close enough to freaking out as it was, just from explaining the basics.

“Do you remember that time?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Have you met him before that?”

“Yeah, a few times. He…” Prompto closed his eyes. “He ’helped’ us out a few times. Political stuff. I was probably the last one who really believed he was trying something.” This would have been easier to explain if he just said the _name_ , but… no.

“Did you want to believe in him?”

The answer to that was yes, and that he didn’t know at the time why he wanted it so much. Now, on the other hand… He hooked his fingers into the wristband beneath his sleeve, let his nails dig hard into the skin. He knew why. He knew why, and he didn’t want to explain it again. “I’m not feeling so great.”

“Do you want to take a break?” She hadn’t changed her position since they started, only to drink tea now and then. He nodded, and she got up and led him to the balcony.

Cold night air and a lack of lies. It was indeed lovely. Under strings of fairylights there was a tiny paradise of green and flowers, illuminated by tiny UV-lamps between the plants, the lights and the life of the city under them.

Prompto watched the flowers, and the street, anything that could get him out of his own head. Standing was hard. Breathing was hard. He should have been used to that by now, but he wasn’t. After a few moments, things settled down a little, and he could speak again. “Short answer is yes. I know why, but thinking about it too much makes me sick.”

“Sit down, if you want to. The floor is warm enough.”

He sighed and did, stretching out his left leg, and resting his head on his other knee for a minute. That was better.

“Do you think it is important for me to know what makes you sick?” She squatted before him.

“You can’t really give me any hints what to do if you don’t.”

“Would it be okay for you to tell me, even if it’s hard?”

Prompto didn’t look up, just nodded lightly. After that, it took a while until he actually said something.

“I… wasn’t born. I was made. You remember MTs? I was meant to be that. Cor took me from the lab before they could do anything.” He swallowed, fingers hooking into the wristband again. “Except they already had done something, I’m sure. It’s like…”

Another break, a few deep breaths. Best to spill everything in one go, so he wouldn’t have to repeat it.

“I… haven’t told anyone that bit. Ever. I… snap to orders like a magnet to a fridge. I can stop it, I still got my brain and my free will and everything, it’s just… way too easy. Like instinct. And with him it’s… He was involved in making me and the others. The instinct is to fall in line behind him. Easier to stomach when he’s not the bad guy, right?”

Another deep breath. “It’s… a lot of stuff at once, sorry.”

“So you behave… like a soldier, basically? Only you never had to get broken in by a drill sergeant?”

He thought about that for a moment. Blinked. Frowned. “Yeah, basically… Plus that sick urge to follow the wrong fucking superior.”

“I understand. Thank you for telling me.” She sat down in front of him now. “Have you thought about what you would like to achieve with me?”

Prompto didn’t answer right away. After a while he said, “Yeah. It’s a few things, really. ‘Get better’ was kinda vague, so I broke it down a bit.” He lifted his head again and leaned back a little. His eyes were red-rimmed, but there were no tears. “The physical stuff is the worst, so… whatever it takes to get the pain under control, and to get, like, six or seven hours of uninterrupted sleep at least a few times per week. I’m pretty useless like this. And I want to… I want my friends back, you know? Be near them without feeling like something horrible is about to happen.”

Again, a nod. “Do you want to stay outside or go back in?”

He gave her an awkward smile. Getting up simply wasn’t an option right now. “I’d rather stay here.”

“I’ll get the tea.” And that she did, together with some blankets, and she sat down with him, notepad in hand. “Wesk told me you’re working for him for the time being?”

“Yeah. I wait tables and do some cleaning up when I can.”

“Is that something you’ve done before? Earn some money after school?”

“That, and I worked full-time when I was done with school, but before I joined the Crownsguard. So, a bit more than a year. Two jobs, part-time, actually. I helped out in a photo shop, and I was a waiter.”

“You kept yourself busy. Was that okay with your parents?”

He shrugged. “I was a legal adult and I had a job. Sure.”

“How did you get along with them in general?”

“They were busy, so they weren’t around very much. We got along okay when they were, though.”

“If I understand you correctly, they were your foster parents?”

Prompto nodded.

“When did you find out?”

“They sat me down to tell me when I started going to school, but… it wasn’t really a surprise. I can’t really remember _when_ I figured it out, but it was way before that. I mean, I’m light blond and got freckles, and they were both picture book Insomnian. It’s not rocket science.”

“How did you feel when they told you?”

“I don’t know. The part where they explained to me how they got me stuck more. I… have this tattoo. They’d hide it, and later told me to keep doing that, and they basically went ‘Someone took you away from the nasty people who gave you that and we told them we’d take care of you.’ My fantasy ran pretty wild.”

“Please, do tell.”

“There were all sorts of rumors what the Nifs did or didn’t do, and I went through half of them. Like, did they sell kids?” Prompto pulled a face. “I was six or seven. It’s a… It’s a barcode, so to me, it had to have something to do with selling them. For what? Slavery? Did they eat them? Did my parents actually buy me? That sort of thing.”

“Would you describe yourself as a happy kid?”

He stayed silent for a moment, then shook his head. “Not really.”

“Did you have friends? Playmates?”

“Not before high school, no.”

“What changed in high school?”  
  
“I made friends with Noctis. More than friends, later. And I met other people because I was around him, and things got a lot better from there.”

“How did the two of you become friends?”

He told her about Tiny, who turned out to be Pryna, and the letter he received from Luna in middle school. “So I thought, I _have_ to be his friend, you know. He doesn’t have any, either. And… then I sort of fucked it up and didn’t dare to try again until I was in high school. Went to say hello, fell flat on my face, and Noct tried to pull me up and almost couldn’t do it, because I was really fat at the time, and… It really wasn’t my best moment.”

“When did you eat when you were that age? You said your parents weren’t around very much, so you had to care for yourself.”

“I just sort of… ate whenever. I didn’t learn how to cook for myself until much later, so I mostly lived on fast food and sandwiches.”

“And meeting Noct changed all that?”

“Yeah. I decided to drop weight, and if I set my mind on something, I usually go through with it, so… I started running. That was the good bit, I really liked that once I got the hang of it. And I started watching what I eat and…” He bit down on his lip, thought for a moment. “That was pretty good for a while, too.”

“Until all things were about food and if it was acceptable?”

“And how many miles I’d have to run to have that snack, or how much I would absolutely have to eat to get through a run without falling over. The all-inclusive package.”

“Did you ever talk about it with anyone?”

“Not… like this.” He waved his hand vaguely between Feyna and himself. “There was that online self-help sort of thing, and then I thought I had a grip on it. I mean, I did, for a while. There were more important things, and someone else did the cooking, and people were watching, and I didn’t… _need_ it as much.”

She wrote down some things before looking at him again. “How are things going at the moment? Do you tend to forget to eat again, or just don’t, because working out is not a real option?”

“It’s… not exactly the worst it’s ever been, I mean, at least I get that I have a problem.” It was getting harder to breathe again, and almost impossible to sit still. “It’s pretty close, though. I only I eat to show people that I do, and I try to get around that, too. Weskham won’t have any of it, and I don’t want to disappoint him, so I eat what he puts in front of me.”

“Do you just forego eating or do you purge if you had too much?” She was pleasantly neutral and up to now wholly unsurprised. If she hadn’t been, the next answer wouldn’t have come out at all.

He shifted a bit, started picking at his sleeves. Lying would have been easier, but that was defeating the point, and he wanted to do this _right_. “I don’t. Usually. Didn’t. It… has happened a few times.”

“Mh. What do you see when you look into a mirror? Or do you avoid that when it isn’t for practical reasons like doing your hair?”

“I can do my hair without a mirror at this point.” Which wasn’t a straightforward answer, but an answer nonetheless.

“Impressive.” A quick smile. “You said you do not sleep too well?”

“No, I don’t.” Prompto shook his head. “I’m usually too wound up to fall asleep, and when I do, I have nightmares. They wake me up a lot, and it’s pretty much impossible to go back to sleep.”

“Do you remember them?”

“Sometimes. When I do it’s…” He stopped to think again. “The thing that happened. This is where the Astral comes in. Shiva. She locked away my memories of it and… I have this tool to get to them bit by bit, but I’m not good at using it. And the nightmares are often things I sort of remember, plus… well, you know how dreams get.”

“A tool?”

“A key. Technically it’s a dog tag, but… she said it’s a key.” He pulled it out from under his sweater to show it to her, then closed his hand around it. “It… worked a bit like one, the one time I managed to use it.”

“But she didn’t tell you how to use it? Hm.”

“She did, I’m just not very good at it.”

“Can you explain it to me?”


	21. In which a prayer is said

“I have no idea what I’m doing, so this might be a bit…” Prompto shrugged. “I guess unconventional is the word.”

There was no incense. Instead, he had set out what looked like a picnic for one on the best bits of blue and white fabric he had been able to lay his hands on, him kneeling in front. Why this seemed like a good idea, he wasn’t sure, but it seemed to fit, somehow.

“I mean, the idea is to offer you something, right? And I thought… I don’t know, this feels like I’m giving something back. And you’re not really friendly with the fiery guy, so burning stuff might not exactly be the best idea?”

He poured the tea and let it sit there.

“Did I mention I have no idea what I’m doing? It’s just that you did something for this dumb lil’ mortal here that he doesn’t understand. I’m sorry if this sucks.”

Outside, a heavy rain had started, drumming on the roof, washing down the window. Iris had lent him back the attic for a few hours of alone time, and after sitting here for a while in silence made the place his own little bubble outside the world.

The tea sat, and cooled down.

And froze over.

He smiled, both surprised and relieved. “I’m pretty sure there’s something formal that I’m supposed to say here, but… well, no clue. So. Thanks for listening. And for… whatever you did.”

The rain stopped. No, it did not. It turned into big white flakes, covering his window, closing his last link to the world outside.

“I just want to understand what that thing you did is… I don’t really get it, and I’m going a bit crazy. I’m sorry.”

He felt arms around him, cool and soothing, even though nobody was there. “Keep you from breaking, dear child.” Her voice only a whisper in his ear.

He took a deep breath. “Guess I screwed it up, then. I’m coming apart, anyway.”

“Because you need to stop running away.” A kiss on his temple.

“I’m…” He _was_ running, there was no denying that. Just… “I’m not even sure what I’m running from.”

“You may take a guess, if you like.”

“Myself, maybe? Whatever Ardyn did that I can’t really remember? All the broken things piling up behind me? All of the above, I guess.”

“Sweet Ardyn is good at one thing, and in one thing only. Putting his finger into sore wounds and opening them up. What he once was, what he once could do after that, is bent and broken, but he still knows where to put his finger.”

He kept kneeling down, even though he could feel his left leg cramp up underneath him. It took a moment before he could speak again. “Wouldn’t it be easier to… take care of the wound if I… if I knew what it even looks like?”

“Shall I put my finger on the root of it all? Is that what you ask of me?”

“If… that means what I think it means, then no. Pretty much the opposite, really.”

“The opposite would be to forget all of it. Utterly. That can be done.” She still held him like, shielding him from the world.

“No! No. No… I misunderstood. That’s exactly what I _don’t_ want.” He shuddered. It was hard to pinpoint why erasing something that had scarred him so much was a terrifying thought, not a relieving one. “I can’t… I’m sorry. I know you meant well, and I’m sure it was good when you did it, but I just can’t deal with things being hidden and cut away from me anymore. I’m sorry.”

“I gave you a _key_.” She sounded sad. “To go at your own pace.”

The small plastic tag around his neck felt heavy now. “Yeah. You did. And I have no clue how to use it right. You’re amazing with mysterious and subtle. I’m really not.”

A giggle filled the room, letting snowflakes crystallize out of thin air. “You did not even try, dear child. That would mean allowing yourself to come to rest and _focus_. I should have known better.”

“Rest? Me? Yeah, sounds unlikely.” The smile looked as tired as he felt. “But thanks for the manual. At least now I know.”

“I offered you to rest in my arms once, so you could go on. You may do so again, if you feel like it is what you need.”

“Thank you for that, too.” Another deep breath. “I just don’t think it is, not now.”

“Thank you for the tea. Remind me to show you one day how prayers used to work.”

He smiled. “I’d be happy to learn.”


	22. In which Iris learns too much about the Marshal

Iris knocked again, for the third time now. She was very certain that it had been loud enough, and she was just as certain that Cor should have been home at this time. No reaction, though. For a moment she wondered if it would be going too far to use the spare key he had given her, but her gut feeling told her to check if he was alright... or if there was another carpet to roll up and get rid of.

"Marshal? I'm coming in."  
  
The little apartment was dark, and the sour smell of alcohol and sweat hit her hard.Cultists and burglary seemed less likely than a moment ago. Still, she moved carefully.

"Marshal?"

A groan pointed her in the right direction, which in this case was the floor of the little bathroom. Cor had tried to undress, but quit somewhere between the second shoe and his trousers. Iris just stood and took the scene in for a few moments. She knew Cor drank too much. In theory. She had figured he had... other habits. In theory. Seeing the outcome up close...

"What the fuck."

Dried blood stuck to cuts on his skin. His shirt and the jacket were in a heap under him, a makeshift pillow. As she switched on the light, the battlefield that was his back became visible in its full glory. Somebody had taken their time to carve patterns into his flesh, arrays of short lines down both sides of his spine. “Don't. Please,“ he managed, his face buried in the fabric.  
  
"Don't what?" She wasn't angry. Angry had happened for about a second, just after disbelief, when the lights went on, and was now replaced by something cold and hard in the pit of her stomach. She closed the distance between them, and tried to get him to sit. "Up with you."  
  
He tried to tense up, to sit by himself, didn't even need too much of her help, but way too much for his own liking, and he smelled of booze and blood and disinfectant. “Leave. I can handle this,“ he mumbled before burying his head in the nape of his elbow, slumping over the toilet, trying to hide from the light.  
  
"You can't handle your own pants." She had access to his back now, that was a start. "Do you have potions? Or at least a first aid kit that you haven't used up yet?"

“Under the sink. My business, this. Understood?“ His voice lacked the usual authority, but the muffled echo the porcelain bowl added seemed to blame here. She didn't confirm, and instead got the kit. Well stocked, not all that long ago. There even was a potion. No surprise, if she thought about it, and right now, she couldn't get around thinking about it.

"Hold still."

The way this place smelled, he had already tried cleaning the cuts, but they were on his back, and he was a mess. Iris tended to the wounds, but she didn't bother being gentle about it. Even in his state, he tried not to whimper. Whoever had done this had at least taken care of cleaning the skin beforehand and not to cut deep enough to warrant stitches, but the aftercare was very much lacking. The potion came last, dabbed directly onto the cuts. They didn't heal completely, but they scabbed over well enough to not be any bother as long as he didn't sleep on his back tonight - or got himself another beating. "You're going to bed now."  
  
"Floor's quite comfy..." Mild protest or a joke, both very much unlike him, but there seemed to be something in the tone of her voice that made him _follow_.  
  
"Cor." His rank had gone out of the window, along with her... Not her respect for him, not all of it. Something had become crystal clear to her, though: The Immortal was very much mortal, and very much a man, and very, _very_ broken. He needed _help_ , and tough love was all either of them knew and understood. "I'll help you out off the pants hanging half off your sorry ass, and then you're going to bed."

“Yes Ma'am...“ he mumbled and managed to finally get up, even if he stood far from straight. A short, useless struggle with the second boot, then he dragged himself into the kitchen to drink a glass of water, and another one, then remembering he had a guest, so he filled a fresh one and placed it gingerly on the countertop. At least he had that much sense left. She took the glass, and gave him a long, hard look. He was completely undone, and barely pulling himself back together, but once he had managed that, there would be no talking to him about anything that had happened. Ever. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

“Tryin' not to. For a time.“

He was squatting in front of the fridge now, looking for something edible, but none of the reasonably healthy contents seemed to be appetizing. She pulled herself up onto the countertop to sit, and left that idea hanging for a moment. Then she asked, "Did it work?"

"For a time. Nothing to really recommend, though. You like that?" A jar of peanut butter in his hand.

"I just had breakfast, thanks." Which should give Cor a pretty good idea of the time of day, or why Iris had tried to find him in the first place. "If it's not all that great... Why stick to it?" It was an honest question, nothing else.

"Because it _works_. Keeps me going on bad days." He started to fix himself a sandwich with PB and cheese. "Want some coffee?"  
  
"Sure, thanks." She thought about that for a moment. "I guess you have a point there. The other stuff you tried didn't cut it?"

“Not on the bad days.“ It didn't take long until the smell of coffee filled the air. If she hadn't found him on the floor and he still was in his boxers, Iris wouldn't notice anything wrong.  
  
"Hm." Another moment of thought. "Shit."

“Will take a shower and be with you in five, okay? Cups are up here.“

"Alright." She poured a cup for herself, and left Cor's empty until she couldn't hear the water running anymore. He took less than five minutes before he was dressed, had a coffee in hand and was looking for his other boot. "By the front door," Iris provided.

"I did not _forget_ anything, did I? Today is my _free day_.“ The idea of _free days_ was something Weskham had very much advocated for all of them, to give them some space and private time, and indeed it was Cor's free day, only he didn't react to several calls to his mobile in the hours before.

"Your phone was on but you weren't picking up, and Wesk said he didn't know anything, either," she explained. "I just wanted to make sure that there wasn't another body."

“Really sorry for wasting your time. Wanna go and grab a bite? No, no you just had breakfast. Right.“ He seemed unsure what to do with himself now. There never were other people in his flat.

"Coffee is fine." She would probably leave after she had finished hers. "Still bleeding when you're home... Does that help, too?" Another question she actually meant.  
  
“I...“ He hesitated. “Not a fan of the whole bandages and wound-care thing. Not for me. It just...“ He shivered. Some bad thing had crept up and touched the surface.

"It's part of the things you don't want to think about?" It looked a lot like it, at least.

“It's part of the things I...“ He shook his head. “Can't even say why. Just was like this one day. And... sleeping dogs, you know?“

"I know. My family's pretty good with sleeping dogs."

A short, sharp nod. He knew. Of course he did. “I'm sorry I didn't call back in time. Won't happen again.“  
  
"Thanks." She finished the cup. "The thing with letting them lie is... If there's too many of them you'll step on some tail eventually, and then they're all awake, and... that's a lot of teeth at once. I know how that turns out."

His thin lips pressed down tight, and he snorted. “Do me the favour and don't tell the boy, okay? He'd just... he has enough on his mind as is.“

"Thank you for the coffee." She wasn't going to make promises.

The slightest twitch of his brow, and a “Please“ that was still _neutral_ , but could very well be a promise or a threat. Either one seemed to be daunting - Iris was smiling now, brightly enough for the outside world. She stood, and moved to leave.

“Shit,“ Cor said to the world at large as the door closed behind her. He dropped down to the floor, spilling half of his coffee and most of the stolidity that had kept him upright. Fatigue washed over him like a wave. Clarus' little girl, of all people.

“Please, don't let her be like her old man...“


	23. In which there is homework

“Basically," Prompto said, “I’m supposed to meditate over the thing, and me, concentrating? That was hard enough already when I was okay.”

Feyna nodded. “Have you ever learned to meditate? Or at least looked into the theory behind it?”

“Not really…”

“I see. How about this: I’ll show you the basics today, no matter if you want to continue to work with me or not?”

He nodded. “Sure, I’ll give it a shot.”

She explained the idea behind it, and how to start. It was Prompto who took notes now. “Right… okay, yeah, I think I get the idea.” He had to look at his notes to remember what she had said a few minutes ago, but he could read them. Good work, he had been less successful while going through the books quite a few times. “Sorry for having you repeat it so much, I’m still a little… beside myself.” Rather literally, though it had gotten better during her explanation.

“I promise you you will feel ridiculous and wonder what you’re doing here. And that is okay. This is no competition, and you can do things at your own pace.“

“Okay.” He folded up his notes and put them in his pocket. “Six, I’m gonna suck at this. It… doesn’t exactly come naturally to me.”

“It doesn’t come natural to anyone, especially if you didn’t grow up with something like it. Don’t get frustrated if it just won’t work for the first time. Your brain will grow accustomed to it.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“Promised. And if you want to make a new appointment, I’ve got homework for you.”

“Yeah, I’m coming back. So what’s the homework?”

“Start a dream diary. Put something to write next to your bed and write down what you remember as soon as you wake up. Bullet points, if you like.”

“Makes sense. Will do.”

“Are there any open questions left for the moment?”

He sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel like I got hit by a truck. Is this always that hard?”

“It is, and it will probably get worse before it gets better.” She sipped the last of her tea. “You can call me anytime if you have the need to talk, okay?”

“Okay.” Maybe he really would.

*** 

They were floating in the pool after their third drink when Weskham took a deep breath.

“I know you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself, but…”

Cor looked down the bruises and scratches on his naked skin. “It's very much in the safe and consensual department, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Weskham shook his head. “I doubt that you would hold still long enough or go for seconds if it wasn’t consensual.”

“It’s nothing that can’t be easily fixed if necessary. And nothing that keeps me from my duty.” Indeed, he had looked worse when the barkeep had visited him at home a few days ago, making Wesk wonder what beast had hurt him that much, but on the other hand, Cor seemed way more relaxed than he had ever been in the last years. No need to mention that those who had fulfilled those needs in days prior were with them no more.

“I don’t doubt that, either.” He poured them fresh drinks. “It’s not the worst way to cope.”

Cor sighed. “You may have been right.”

Weskham just handed him the glass and waited for him to continue. He drank and waited for the words to come out. “To leave this mess behind while you still could.”

“It was the right decision – for me, at the time. Doesn’t make other decisions wrong.”

“I don’t know how long I can stay here. The boy won’t need me for long, and neither does Clarus’ little girl, and then…” He emptied the glass in a single gulp.

“You’d have nothing outside yourself to focus on.” Weskham leaned back. “You might try to take a page out of the kid’s book, for a change.”

“Pining after a lost king? Thought I just was over that.”

“Maybe not that one.”

“Make my hair look like the tail feathers of a chocobo? Probably that one neither.”

“Skip to the chapter about towels and not throwing them in.”

“What do you mean then?” He gave back the glass for a refill.

“He asked me for a number.” The refill came along with the reply. “I gave him Feyna’s.”

“Feyna… Feyna… ah. Yeah, she might be the right person for him.”

“Not for you, I’m sure, but there are others.”

Cor lay back on the salty water and closed his eyes, drifting on the surface with his arms stretched out.


	24. In which people talk about drugs and Cor doubts

Prompto wasn't a fan of outdated motor and beauty magazines, so right now, sitting and waiting was what he was stuck with. He had never been very good at that, and there were reasons why this was the first time in ages that he had a doctor's appointment, too. The only thing that kept him from pacing was that he was tired and aching, _again_. So bouncing his foot and playing with his wristbands it was. If Cor hadn't been right next to him, he probably would have bolted. Prompto had asked him to come along exactly because of that.

The marshal sat like a warden watching over a particularly flighty prisoner, as unhappy about the situation as the boy was. His whole body was tense. Name after name was called by the receptionist, until they were alone in the room, then finally, "Mr Argentum? This way, please."

It took a discreet shove from Cor to set him in motion.

The man who welcomed him was in his fifties, the gray mane neatly cut. Clear green eyes in a soft, aristocratic face with a slightly too dominant nose and the stubble of a long day at work. More a poet than a scientist. "I'm Doctor Medela. Sorry to keep you waiting, but I wanted to fit you into my schedule as soon as possible."

It could definitely have been worse. He reminded Prompto a little of... no, never mind. He kept himself from looking sideways at Cor. "It's fine, thanks for squeezing me in."

“Come in.“

The consulting room was a small affair with clean cut furniture and pleasant lighting, warm and yellow, not too bright. A small desk, the chairs for the patient next to it, not opposite of it. “May I offer you something, Mister Argentum? Tea, coffee, water?“

"No, thanks, I'm good." He'd just fumble and spill it, the way things were going recently. "Maybe...?" He looked in Cor's direction anyway, now.  
  
"I'd prefer to talk alone with you first, but only if it is alright for you."

He managed an awkward smile and nodded. "Yeah, sure. No big deal."  
  
"So please, sit down." He smiled and waited til the boy had settled. "Would you mind telling me why you came to me?"

Prompto nodded, and gave him a quick summary of the things he had talked through with Feyna: He was in therapy, his sleeping schedule was basically non-existent, medication was an option he was okay with. Not a word about food or pain issues, but that wasn't what he was here for, as far as he was concerned. "So I guess that's where you'd come in."  
  
Medela asked some fairly inoffensive questions about his general health, until one caused a little silence. "Have you ever thought about suicide?"  
  
The silence dragged on until it became and answer all by itself. There were a lot of things that were okay to admit to, at least in a setting that was meant for that, but Prompto found that to him, considering to _give up_ was not one of them. He had only ever said something along those lines out loud once, by accident, when he had talked to Ignis back in Hammerhead, and only to tell him that he _wasn't_ going to do it. He had never told _anyone_ how close he had come.  
  
"I have to ask you this because sometimes the medication reinforces such a wish for the first weeks, so please be honest with me and yourself here." Where Feyna was heart and warmth, the doctor was professional and friendly. No judgment. Nothing _personal_.

Well, fuck.

"Yeah, I've thought about it. Had plans a few times, almost went through with it once."

He simply nodded. Took a note. "When was that?"

"The close one was about a year ago. I still get... ideas, sometimes."

“I can't offer you in-patient treatment these days. Doctor Zardenjo told me you are staying with an old friend of hers?“

"Yeah." The challenge Prompto saw for the next few weeks, if what the doctor said was true, was that he couldn't be under somebody's surveillance all the time, and that he wasn't sure which idea was worse: being alone and armed, or being alone and unarmed. He would have to think of something.

“Do you have somebody you trust enough to have an eye on you? And who'll notice when you're acting out of the norm?“

The first name his brain provided him with, out of habit, was 'Noctis.' He pulled a face. The second and third name were givens, too, but not available for so many reasons. Of the people who were actually around... "Yeah. Right on the other side of that door."

“Ah, I see. In which relationship are you with him?“

"He's family." It was true, in a way, and it came closer than 'He's a friend' or, Six have mercy, 'He's my superior.'

"So another Mister Argentum, or...?"

"No, he's not... We're not... no. Just... closest to family I've got, I guess. Cor Leonis." Maybe he would drop the issue now that he had a name. Maybe just out of sheer surprise that it was _that_ name.

"Lesann, please send in Mister Leonis." he asked over the intercom.

"How open do you want me to be with him?"

"There really isn't much room for beating around the bush with that one."

"It's about how general I talk about potential side-effects. There is no dire need to tell him about your history if you don't want to."

"It's okay if he knows." Prompto himself sure as hell would not mention it, but maybe it wasn't all that bad if somebody knew. Not necessarily, but... maybe. "If it helps you get the point across."

"Take a seat, Mr Leonis."

Cor eyed the room, way more reluctant to enter than Patches had been to enter the bath. The doctor had risen to shake hands with him, and that finally made him enter properly. Prom watched in slight marvel as the psych laid his second hand upon that shake, assuring dominance, and that Cor _accepted_ that. The marshal sat down beside him, and the anxious part of Prompto - the one that had been more or less in control of his life for months now - was nervous about the conversation that was about to unfold. Another part of him that didn't surface as much anymore, though, started stirring as well, and it said, _Oh. My. Gods. I need to tell Iris, she'll just love this_.

"Mister Argentum told you why he came to visit me?"

"He said it was about getting medication against his insomnia and the anxiety?" Prompto noticed Cor was on edge, even more so than in the waiting room. The vein in his right temple was pulsing _hard_.

"I presume during your time in service you've come across cases of PTSD?"

A short nod, the face smooth as a mirror.

"Your young friend is in good hands, but Feyna and I decided we'd like to give him a little extra hand so working with his experiences will be more manageable."

A nod, again. "Understood."

"During the first month, there is a certain danger that Mister Argentum will have bouts of depression or suicidal thoughts. This is a known side-effect. Having someone to watch over him, a person of his trust, who does not hesitate to inform us if there are any changes in his behaviour, would be a great alleviation. He wants you to take on this duty, but I want you to think about it first."

The anxiety took over again. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Maybe he should have asked someone else. But Weskham - the only other person that would have been an option - already did more than enough, and Cor _understood_ , more than anyone else. He _knew_. "Yeah, it's... just if you're okay with it. Sorry. I didn't know that was a thing, or I would have asked you before." That, and he would have pushed the appointment off as far as humanly possible.  
  
Cor gave him a short glance, then reached out, gave a short, encouraging press to Prom's shoulder. “ _Of course_.“

That sounded a bit like an holy oath, maybe a bit too much. On the one hand, he could be perfectly sure now that someone was looking out for him. On the other hand...

Oh, well.

"Thank you."

“I'll give you my private number so you can reach me past office hours in case anything comes up. I'd like to see you in the morning for bloodwork, and if that is okay, we'll see to everything else. Please, don't feel bad or guilty because you take them. It is a _sickness_ , and it's just reasonable to treat it.“

Prompto just couldn't help a sideglance at Cor. That had been way too vague to be directed at him alone. He nodded anyway. "Thanks."

“Do you have any more questions? If anything comes up, feel free to ask.“

"I will." For the moment, he had no further questions, though. More handshakes, a little firmer than strictly necessary for Cor, and some quick coordination with the receptionist for the next morning. Prompto was caught up in thinking about the medication and what that entailed, including Cor's solemn promise, the idea that somebody thought that under different circumstances, he should have been in hospital - it wasn't _that_ bad, was it? - and that tiny voice piping up again saying that, heureka, he finally knew what Cor's type was. _Younger and soft my ass._

It was only when they had left and walked for a while through the living creature that Lestallum still was during nighttimes, even moreso now, with more night and more people. “I could need a drink.“

Prompto nodded. "Yeah... Me, too. You know better than me where to get a good one. Lead the way."

They ended up in a nice little bar, candle-lit and without any music playing. The voices of the other patrons were a slight buzz in the background. Cor ordered for them, something clear on ice with fresh greens in it, the herbs almost drowning out the liquor. They drank, and for a change Prompto waited if Cor had anything to say, first.

“Scared?“ he asked after the glass was only half-full.

"Yeah, not gonna lie." Prompto shrugged and tried for a smile. "Would be scarier to stay like this, though."

"What do you think of him?" Cor's fingernails clinked against the glass. He still seemed... nervous? Prompto looked up, and directly at him now.

"I think he knows what he's doing, and I think he's right." _Get the hint._  
  
"Shit." He downed the drink and ordered another one, and then, an afterthought, a glass of water.

"You asked." Prompto was still on his first drink, and by the looks of it intended to stick with that a little longer.

"Did you know there was something like that in store?"

"Nope. I was actually hoping that at least the meds don't make things worse before they get better... Guess I was wrong. Again."  
  
"We'll manage. You've come so far that this is basically nothing." Cor tried a smile, and it almost worked.

A sigh. "Yeah. Really far."

"Farther than I ever did." He bit his lip.

"You could give it a shot. I mean, sure, it's slow, but... right now you've got a pretty good vantage point."

" _Talking_ about _emotions_." Winter-sky eyes staring.

"Depends on _who_ you're talking to and _how_." Prompto emptied his drink. "You've got a number..."

"A number?" Cor blinked. "Heh. Medela, you mean?"

"Yeah. Looks like the right guy."

"Neither of us has exactly others to compare, and he's..." He shrugged.  
  
"I don't know. Just... a hunch, I guess."

"A _hunch_ , mh?" Was there the slightest hint of a blush on his ears? Prompto didn't bother to hide the grin. Tired, but honest. "Shit. That obvious?"

"Just a bit."

His head sank down. "Think he noticed?"

"Maybe?"

"You could have said 'No', you know?" It was the very first time he saw the marshal like this.

A cough. "It's a maybe with a lot more no than yes. So, almost no. Ninety percent no, I just can't definitely say _no_ because I didn't pay that much attention to how he was looking at you, because I was busy trying to figure out the whole medication business."

“Hopefully no. Six.“ So that was him as a teenage boy? “Sorry, this is about you. Not about me.“

"No, it's fine. It's great you're at least thinking about, y'know, getting up and out."

“With a man that's probably married and settled down, making sure it won't work. Old habits. How 'bout you? Up and out yourself?“

Prompto just let his head drop to the table and groaned.  
  
“'It's complicated'? Something like that?”

He lifted his head again. "I think 'It's a mess' comes a lot closer."

“Want to talk about it? I'm experienced in messes. Not necessarily clearing them with survivors, though.“

"I have a crush on a guy who is... let me see, where do I start..." He started ticking the list off on his fingers. "Probably barely legal to begin with, has issues to challenge my own, and a job as old as mankind itself, if you get my drift. And he's the sensible one in this not-really-a-relationship."

“Does he have a crush on you?“ Maybe the easiest question of them all.  
  
"I think so." Prompto frowned. "That, or he's going through an insane amount of trouble to get into my pants."

"But your heart is still elsewhere, and it feels like it _should be that way_?"

"Yeah... All while my brain is going, look, sure, he'll come back, but you don't even know if he'll be back _in your lifetime,_ so don't be an idiot."

"If he comes after his Dad, he won't mind you eating elsewhere as long as you're still up for fishing if he feels like it." Cor seemed not sure himself if he liked his try of _being honest_ and _saying things that should be said._

"Yeah, I know. He wouldn't. It's just... Everything about this feels a bit _off_ and I'm pretty sure it's because--" Prompto stopped dead, shoulders rigid. Seemed to have to think something through before he could relax his shoulders and breathe again. "It's... I just... why are all the cute ones either trouble, in trouble, or both?"

"Don't forget married or about to marry." Cor seemed to find a certain degree of humor in the situation. "Does Wesk know him?"

Prompto nodded. "Yeah, he's met him. Sort of applied for playing piano at the Mag, but... things are complicated between him and me and... you know Wesk."

"Too well to get an answer from that."

"He didn't get the job so I wouldn't have to look at him when the whole thing blows up. Which it sort of did first."

"But that was not the end of it, because...?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

"You were just trying to convince me to date your psychatrist. And having a crush on a single guy your age makes you an idiot because... he's got an unconventional job?"

"It's not the job." Prompto sighed. "He more or less _paid_ me for being kind, left me a note that basically said that he can't date me if I don't want sex, and I ran after him, anyway."

"Why? Because you want to show him that he's worth something?"  
  
Prompto snorted. "I can't even show myse--" He cut himself off and bit his lip.  
  
"It's always easier in others, at least in my experience." The look Cor gave him was very much a promise that this evening had never taken place.

"I know." He relaxed a little. "You should have heard the pep talks I gave Iggy."

“No, your hair does _not_ look like the ass of a big bird, and that print will come back in style?“

"No, he was pretty confident about that. It was more, 'You're not useless, you still kick ass, we still need you.' And coeurl print _is_ cool, just for the record."

“Shit. He's not blind in my head. Still not. Just a guy with sunglasses and a shirt my grandma wears for her Bingo evenings.“

"Don't worry about it, he tries his best to _make_ people forget."

Cor rubbed his face. “I'm losing it, ain't I?“

"Not more than usual... but maybe, yeah, it's time to at least try and pick up the marbles."

“Simply forgetting that a part of my unit is no longer able to be on dury without restrictions... that would never have happened.“

Prompto chewed on his lip for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he should say something or not, and then with a deep breath decided to say it. "That's... not more than usual. I mean, not all the time, but here and there, and... that's been you for a while now. Sorry."  
  
“It wasn't that way before Insomnia fell, was it?“ The marshal seemed shaken. Scared.

"Yeah. You were scary, but you totally had it all together."

“It was... as if my life had ended. Still feels like it. Not _real_.“ His fingers drew something into the water that condensed on the side of the glass.  
  
"You're not dead yet. All I can honestly say."  
  
Cor's eyes closed, and he remained silent, hands around the drink like the only remaining pillar of a ruin.  
  
Prompto watched for a second, then reached over the table to hold on to Cor's lower arms. If this was anywhere close to what he felt sometimes... He tightened his grip, held on as hard as he would have to keep him from falling.


	25. In which dates are set up

Prompto didn't ask Cor to accompany him again the next morning. He could do paperwork and having some blood drawn, no problem. No difficult conversations to be had.

“Have a seat, Mister Argentum. The doctor will be with you in a moment.”

Prompto slowly grew accustomed to the waiting room. Two hours ago, they took his blood, and then he spent time in the waiting room among other patients. Was it a busy day or were there just way too many people that _needed help_ this way? With what the world had become, it was probably the latter. The lack of daylight alone would have been enough to make a whole lot of people sick in more way than one, you didn't even need to take the threat of daemons, the possibility of infection, and the logistical problems into account. Or that a large portion of Lestallum's current inhabitants were refugees from the Crown City. Or that basically everyone he knew had lost friends or family in either the war or the Dark.  
  
“Ah, Mister Argentum. Just got the results from the lab.“ Medela entered without a greeting, a cup of coffee in one hand, a file in the other. “How are you feeling today?“

“I'm fine, thank you.”  
  
He leafed through the papers, adding some neon marker here and there. “You have problems with eating? Or just a tendency towards instant foods? We've got some deficiencies here.”

Psychiatrist. Responsible for his meds. Honesty was the best policy. “Eating disorder. Working on it.” Prompto gave him a tight smile.

A nod and a note. “I'd like to give you something for iron, vitamin B and D, just to help your body along. D is something all of us are lacking these days anyway. Otherwise, things are looking decent enough to start with medication. I highly advise you to take your meds with some food, they have a tendency to upset the stomach a little. Otherwise...”

He handed Prompto a notepad and a pen and started explaining when to take them. Which dose. What _might_ happen. What was _supposed_ to happen. When he really really should go and see some doctor, any doctor immediately. Prompto nodded and took notes, asking a question here and there. “Good. Yeah, I got this. Right, thanks. I have another question, though...”

“Please, ask ahead.”

“That last thing you said yesterday... about how it's a disease and not feeling guilty... that wasn't mainly directed at me, was it?”  
  
“It's a thing that can't be said often enough. Even though I could not help but notice how _uncomfortable_ your friend was, and sometimes it helps when an authority figure tells those things instead of another person concerned.”

“Uncomfortable... yeah, I guess that's one way to say it.”

“ _Did_ it help?”

Prompo nodded. “Really shook something up. Not sure what he's gonna make of it, though.”

“And you're asking for...?”

“Talk to him, maybe? I'm pretty sure he'd want to talk. To you. Maybe not about that at first, and maybe not with that desk in between. But. Talking would be good.” Gods, he was so bad at this.  
  
The doctor blinked. Drank some coffee. Blinked again. “Just for clarification, Mister Argentum: Do you think your friend is in need of subtle medical assessment or are you trying to set us up for a _date_?” At least in things of neutral facial expressions Cor and him were a perfect match.

A deep breath, and Prompto opened his mouth, ready to say something. Closed again. Then opened it again and tried once more. “I am - very badly, because wow, this is awkward - trying to set you up for a date.”  
  
“Was this his wish or your idea?” There was a tiny smile on the doctor's lips. At least that.

“Um... Guilty as charged.”

“And you think this is something he would _want_?”

“Yep, definitely.”

“It would probably wise to run into him by accident. Where he does not have to constantly fear this is done for science or worse...”

_It could not be that easy, could it?_

Maybe, though, this time - once in a blue moon - luck was on his side. Prompto grinned. “I know where he drinks.”

“Hm. Does he, now. How about, Mister Argentum, we meet again in three days, you are the last appointment of the day and we see where things take us from there? Seeing you in a better place is of strict priority.”

“Sure thing, not fair to keep everyone waiting. Oh, and...” He waved his notes, “Thanks.”

“You're welcome. If anything comes up, don't hesitate to call, okay?”

“If anything comes up, I will.” Knock on wood that he wouldn't have to.

***

After ten minutes of staring at his phone, Prompto pressed his finger down on Rosham's entry in his contact list.

Somewhere, a phone rang, but nobody picked up. Maybe he was busy? He was certainly busy. What had he been thinking? And chances were that he had given up on Prompto ever calling, anyway, because it had been what? Two months? He started typing.

 _Hi, I know it's been a while, and -_ No _._ _Hey, sorry for_ \- No, not like that, either. _I tried calling you but -_ He deleted the last message as well and let his head drop against the wall. Shit. Everything had gone to shit, and the meds were doing jack shit, and yes, he knew he had to give it time but for fuck's sake, and now he couldn't even write a godsdamned text.  
  
The pleasant noise of an incoming message while the phone was still in his hand.

_Hey. Who is this?_

He sighed, and texted back. Replying was easier.

 _the spikey cactuar. took me a while. sorry._  
  
He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

 _They probably live in desert regions and get really slow when it's cold. Happens ¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯. How are the prickers?_  
  
_still pokey. wanna see you again anyway._  
  
This time it took a little longer.

 _Cool. Just see or do something with people around?_  
  
Why the hell not.

 _what do u have in mind?_  
  
_What do young folks do these days? Still dancing, right?_  
  
What? Prompto shook his head.

 _XD_  
_sure. u free 2nite?_  
  
A whole while this time.

 _Tomorrow? 9 at Broken Wings for starters, then your choice?_  
  
_sure! :) cya there_


	26. In which inquiries are made

"Calidus. My name is Calidus."

Doctor Medela locked the door to the practice himself, after all others had left. He had a certain routine before leaving, controlling some things, putting others in just the right place. Prompto had seen a ritual like this with Weskham when he started his shifts. It put them into the right mindset.

"I'd like to grab a bite first. Care to join me?"

"I guess 'Prompto' it is, then." Prompto smiled. "And yeah, sure."

So here he was, trying to set up _Cor_ for a _date_ with his _psychiatrist_. Any two of these words in one sentence would have been mind blowing enough, but all three of them? They went for some kind of hot pot served with flat bread and a variety of chutneys, eaten with little pieces of bread instead of cutlery. The doctor seemed way more relaxed than around his office, especially after he laid aside his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "I haven't asked you how you and the meds are getting along yet."

"It's okay. Bit woozy, bit of a headache. And they _are_ a little heavy on an empty stomach. _So_ not doing that again." He shrugged and tore off a piece of bread to make his point.

“Any change in your sleeping schedule yet?“

"Nope, but I guess that takes some time, too."

“Really depends on the patient.“ He smiled, a warm honest smile, and it felt like a rarity these days. “We'll find just the right thing for you.“

"Thanks." Prompto returned the smile, and steered away from the topic. "This meeting here is not about me, though."

“Allow me some avoidance tactics, Prompto. I haven't done this for quite a few years.“

He grinned. "So my avoidance gets in the way of your avoidance? Tricky." The grin became a little tighter around the corners when he added, "Don't worry about it, I don't think that he has, either."

“Ah, the beautiful dance of humanity. We're in luck that Feyna isn't here to teach us easier ways of communicating.“ He grinned. “Do you get along with her worldview?“

"It kinda makes her exactly the right person for working through the kind of problem that made my problem a... well, an _actual_ problem." He frowned. " _If_ that makes sense."

“We had our difficulties in the beginning. She called me a glorified druglord, I called her a witch. We were perhaps both a bit right.“

Prompto had decided it was the eyes that reminded him of Noct's old man. Friendly and slightly melancholic. Or maybe the salt-and-pepper hair. Other than that... it was hard to imagine the frail king as full of life as this one was. "Good thing that you laid them aside, I wouldn't want to be in _that_ line of fire."

Another thing that this guy had in common with Regis was that he could take over a conversation, turn and lead it, without making you feel like being steamrolled. Maybe Prompto himself wasn't the best example, but he was positive that it would work on people who were less likely to just hand it over. “If I remember right, I was always quite keen to know more about the people I tried to hook up my friends with. Is it different these days or is 'He's a doctor' enough credit?“

"Believe it or not, the 'doctor' part is coincidence. The general idea was 'He's totally his type'. And he's a grown man, he can decide for himself if he takes the pointer or not." Prompto shrugged. "But... yeah. I still wanna make sure there are no really, _really_ avoidable accidents. So, uh, first question, and sorry in advance: You _are_ single, right?"  
  
“You should probably tell Feyna you only asked this _now_.“ He smirked and ordered fresh drinks. “But yes, I am. Well, divorced, that is, but not recently. Two daughters.“

"That's... Grats. Good for you. You know, it says a lot about either me or the world right now that I was expecting something with daemons, and 'widower' rather than 'divorced'. I mean... never mind. Just curious, how old are your daughters?"

“It would probably be usual to make a joke about ex-wives and daemons now, but we get along fine enough. Just noticed things were over when Fabiola was about fourteen. She's the younger one, twenty-two now. Older one is approaching her thirties. I'll spare you the pictures.“ A short break as he busied himself with the food. “World at large and a military background. Doesn't leave too much place for different ends to stories.“

'Military background' still sounded odd to Prompto. He still tought of his career as something transitional, something he had been doing to travel with the others, to be with Noct, way back when the world was still okay. Something he was going to do 'until all this is over', when in fact he had, by now, been a soldier, worked with soldiers, lived with soldiers longer than anything else.

"So... previous relationship healthy but over, no tragic deaths and pining..." He was one to talk. "And you seem know what you're doing." Prompto stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth, and made a point of looking thoughtful while chewing. Finally, "You must be an axe murderer, or have ties to some weirdo cult." He made it sound like a joke, and the first half was, but he watched Calidus' face for his initial reaction, anyway.

The doctor laughed, his mouth full, and gestured at him to wait just a second. "If you ever meet my wife, ask her about the time I tried to hew a tree in our garden. I'd make an horrible axe murderer, that is for sure."

Prompto laughed along, mostly out of relief. Not an Ifrit cultist, and not associated - or he was a really good actor, but then it could be anybody, really, and adding paranoia to his damage list... no. Worrying about the people that were _actually and obviously_ after them was more than enough. "Single, not mourning, not an axe murderer, interested." Prompto nodded appreciatively. More than most could offer these days.

“Why do you want to find him a man? I suppose he has some little _issues_ you might want to tell me before I accidentally stumble into a deep dark pit?“

“Apart from the glaringly obvious PTSD?" He raised his eyebrows and sighed. "Do you know who he is? Would probably make things easier."

“And at least one phobia he doesn't want to accept as such, yes.“ The doctor folded his fingers. “I do remember his face, if darkly, from the old days in Insomnia. Some affliate of the former king?“

"Yeah. Crownsguard, one of those closest to him. Probably the closest." Prompto left that standing as it was.

A raised eyebrow. “He'll probably tell me if he thinks I need to know. What's his substance abuse problem? Military man, stressful job, so probably pain meds or alcohol?“ Calidus didn't even seem too worried, just mildly interested.

That got him a nod. "Didn't want you to run into a wall there. And yeah, he drinks, capital D." Not exactly a secret, that.

“Still does not answer my first question. That I will put another way: What do you expect of me and would you like to be referred to another person for your medication? I usually wouldn't dream of, well, following through with this situation, but the world is a special place these days.“

"I'm doing this because yeah, the world's gone a little bit mad, and because he's my friend. He's a good man, and if making an ass of myself with stunts like this," he said pointing back and forth between them, "gives him at least chance at something good that isn't set up to fail right from the start? I mean, here I am. And here you are. All I want from you is to meet with him and give him that chance. As for the meds, no need to refer me, if it's all the same to you."

“You're not making an ass out of yourself. Everything but. The world would be a better place if more people would dare to speak up for those they care about.“ It was the eyes. Melancholic and so very sincere.

"Glad to hear it." Prompto smiled. "Now I can use this week's quota for looking like a moron for something else."

“So, where does he drink?“


	27. In which boys are boys

The Broken Wings was a rather shabby bar, pool tables, Justice Monsters machines, and a wall behind the bar that proudly presented a selection of half-empty liquor bottles. The poison of choice of most of the guests, youngsters like them, seemed to be beer anyway. Lots of leather and jeans, and rock music playing a bit too loud. Prompto and Rosham fit right in, shabby plaid and worn jacket, and Prompto felt better for it. He had to raise his voice a little more than he liked to be heard over the music.

“Hey, sorry I'm late.” Not by much, but he was. “Had to help out a friend with something and it took a bit longer than I thought.”

“Hey!“ Rosham jumped from the stool at the bar and hugged him. Held him far longer than a simple greeting would have needed. Not that Prompto minded. He just hugged right back and held on for a moment.

“Glad you're here.“ Rosham mumbled, gently pushing back an unruly strand of Prom's hair. “Are you thirsty? You must be thirsty.“ Still not letting him escape from his embrace.

“I'll... order something in a minute. You alright?” So far, Prompto was still holding on, and not trying to move away, so clingy Rosham not letting go wasn't a problem yet.

“Alive. That's good enough. How are you?“ His hazel eyes studied the freckled face like it was the first time he ever saw it.

“Alive.” He just smiled at Rosham for a moment, and then remembered to add, “Working on making it a bit more than that.”

“You are? Cool. Tell me about it, you reasonable adult you.“ He let go, hesitantly, pointing at the bar.

Prompto sat down with him, and shrugged. “Taking care of the spikes. Shrink and all that.”

“Shrink. Really. Didn't know you were full of hidden riches. A treasure, sure, but...“ Two new bottles of beer were served.

“You're too sweet.” He hesitated before he picked up the bottle. Day three on new meds that were screwing with his brain. He probably shouldn't be drinking. The beer was already there, though, and one probably wouldn't hurt. “I guess I wouldn't if I had to pay. Friend of a friend, I got lucky.”

“Gotta be lucky once in a while. And how is it? Couch and all, and you telling your deepest fears?“

Prompto chuckled. “There's a couch alright. And yeah, sometimes we talk about that kind of thing, but mostly it's trying to figure out what to do about it _now_.”

“And what do sensible adults with such things? It's a serious question, all old folks I know don't really belong in the field of _sensible._ “

Outright laughter, this time. “Beats me if I know what sensible people do, I just know what _I'm_ working on. Like not going completely off the rails when something happens that... hits one of the prickly spots. Not really good at that yet.”

“And what are you _supposed_ to do? Did they tell you that?“

“Breathing is a start. Slowly. I kinda forget that is a thing when I freak. The other thing sounds really stupid, but it makes sense for me and for what all that feels like. Like concentrate on something simple, for example...” He laughed again, a little nervous now. “Okay, you can laugh at me, I usually go with what my socks feel like on my feet. I didn't have--” Prompto stopped talking there, and drank instead.

“Socks. You didn't have... socks? No. Something else.“ Rosham's fingers danced on the shining bottle neck, peeling the paper from there.

Prompto looked at him and tried for a smile. “Sorry. This is gonna get really depressing really fast, so maybe we should talk about something else.”

“Hey, that's okay. I mean, if you wanna talk, if you don't wanna, that's okay too. But it seems to be an important part of the whole, so...“

“I...” He sighed. “If you really wanna know, ask me again a few beers. Maybe.”

“Because you wanna tell me, but then not, or because you don't wanna, but would if drunk? Is quite the difference.”

“Who's the reasonable adult now?” Prompto kept the smile on. “And what have you been up to, anyway?”

“If I'm not busy, I'm scouting the city. Collecting things there. Art, mainly. Graffiti.” He drank and grinned sheepishly.

Prompto grinned as well. “Art collector, huh? Fancy. An artist yourself, too?”

“Dabbling, if anything at all. Nothing I'd show without three or more beers. I'm shy, okay?”

“No need to hurry. If you _do_ wanna show me eventually, that's cool.”

“But the traces the people leave on the walls are really something. Sometimes scratched into the stone when they couldn't afford paint. Ever noticed them?“

“Some. The scratched stuff I saw went from dicks over 'I was here' to pretty decent poetry. Some of the paint graffitis are really cool.”

“But dicks are way more traditional. They did it in Solheim, and probably before that. In the end, humanity is crude dicks all the way down. Nothing to be proud of, really.” He emptied his bottle.

Something felt off for a moment there, but then again, that probably was the meds talking. He would not add paranoia to the list. Prompto shrugged, and just ordered another beer. "Dicks. Dicks never change.”

“You ever done that? Not draw a dick, well, maybe a dick, but write your name down somewhere to prove the world you exist?” New bottles were delivered. Clinked. Tasted. Still tasted liked beer.

“Sure.” Prompto snorted. “All the time, really, back in school. Not my name, just that stupid 'I was here', date, initials thing. Wouldn't want to get caught, right?” He raised his brows. “Have you?”

“Not really. Never had the time when I was a kid, always someone having their eyes on me, and later... didn't get out much for a while. Probably _should_ have, but I was mostly happy not to get noticed at all.“

“Yeah, I know what that last one feels like... The first one, not so much. Your parents?”

“Everybody, pretty much. At least felt like it.” Rosh didn't seem too keen on talking about it, or just never before had.

“How old are you, anyway? I mean, old enough, apparently. Just curious.” _Hopefully_ actually old enough.

“He. You're one to ask. Feel like ancient some of these days, so that's probably good enough. Could drive a car, too.”

Prompto huffed a laugh, but he _did_ feel a little uneasy. There was a hint he wasn't getting. “Um. Yeah, I guess it is. I mean, if you're only as old as you feel, I'm my own grandpa.”

“Do cactuars have grandparents? And if they do, do their needles grow long and limp and grey or do they just fall out?”  
  
Prompto blinked, then snorted and laughed. “That's... I just imagined it and thanks, I cannot unsee that. I don't know, maybe they just fall over and dry out? Talk about taking a metaphor too far.”

“That would be sad. Imagine them knitting away big woolen sweaters for their grand-cacti against the cold desert nights, brewing them cact-oa...” He ducked and giggled, expecting a little slap for his joke. Prompto laughed again, and swatted a hand in his direction, not actually hitting him.

“I don't really have a pun bad enough to follow up on that one. Sorry.” They went through their second beer like that, and halfway through the third. Usually, Prompto would have felt a little tipsy at this point, enough to not handle a gun anymore, but nowhere near what he called drunk. Not tonight, though. Either the beer was a lot stronger than he had thought, or his tolerance was practically zero.

Rosham, himself quite sober, had watched him for a while now. “You meant what you said about those _few beers_ , didn't you?”

Prompto shook his head. “I was kidding!” He raised his bottle and inspected it. Not even empty. He chuckled. “Mmm. Guess the meds will save me some money tonight. Shit.”

“Wanna walk it off instead of going out? I can point at dicks on the wall and maybe we hold hands and talk 'til you sober up and then we pretend you never said anything at all?”

“I'm okay. I just... need to lay it off for a few rounds after that one. No big.” He sighed. “Holding hands is nice, though. And _firmly_ in my non-spikey okay-with-touching zone.”

“You find bars bearable without drinking? You're amazing. But I'd like to go for a smoke nonetheless, if you don't mind.“

“I find bars bearable when _drunk_ and I got that covered alright.” Prompto grinned and stood up anyway. “Can I scrounge one of yours? I usually don't, but y'know.”

“Sure. You know those things aren't good for you, but sometimes...“ The boy grinned and threw the leather jacket over his shoulders, leaving some money under the bottle.

His hand was warm and slighty wet when he took Prom's, first only holding it, then dragging him outside into the cool air. It did little to sober him up. Holding hands and smoking felt all the more like being fifteen, sneaking behind the shed on the school roof. He grinned. “I'm half expecting somebody to tell me off for this.”

Nobody would, of course. He was old enough, and still wondering when _that_ had happened.

They hid in a little alley a few steps from the bar, Rosham indeed pointing out a dick on a wall, crudely drawn in marker. When he let his hand go to roll two cigarettes, the smile on his lips remained, all giddy and excited. Prompto found the drawing much funnier than it should have been, but it was that kind of night. He stood close, as much as he could without getting in Rosham's way, and held on to his hand again as soon as the cigarettes were rolled and lit. The first drag hit him like like a gentle slap in the face, sending a tiny wave of relaxation through his system.The boy watched him, his eyes huge and almost glowing in the neon light that came in from the street.

“How can you be so impossibly cute?“ His voice almost cut out.

“I could ask you the same thing. You're so sweet it's unreal.” Prompto's smile was swept away for a moment, and his grip around Rosham's hand tightened. “You _are_ real? Right?”

“What else should I be?“ The boy dragged him close, cigarette between his lips, arm around his waist, and held him. A nervous laugh.

Prompto held on as well, and it _felt_ real. The snow had felt real, too. He just couldn't spend every waking moment of his life trying to spot the difference. “Sorry. I just... get like this sometimes.”

“Like what? Very much doubting you're awake?”

Rosham gently pressed Prom's head against his chest, so he could hear the dark beat of his heart.

“Yeah... that I ever woke up.”

“So another nightmare person?” He tapped the ash of his his cig, then started to mess with Prom's hair at the back of his neck, where no gel kept it upright.

“Mmm.” This was good, he could stay here for a while. “Just nightmares now. Started out worse.”

“Tell me yours, and I tell you mine,” the boy whispered, willing to exchange big secrets, never told.

“Sounds fair.” Prompto sighed. “There's one... It's just a corridor, and I know I can't stay where I am, but at the end of it there's something I don't want to get too close to. There's bodies everywhere. Everything hurts. I have a gun, but I can't use it. Don't know why. I just stand there for what feels like hours, trying to walk away, but I'm stuck. When I can make myself move I wake up.”

“Crap. Sounds like a memory from war. Is it? I mean, could it be?“

“It's a memory, at least some parts of it. Only it never really happened.”

“A bad trip that messed up your head something fierce? Or something else?“

“I wish. Someone else messed my head up. More than it already was.”

A long moment of silence. “I... I can't say I really understand, but then there are probably plenty of things I don't get. And I'd like to understand, because...“ He threw the butt away and planted a kiss on Prom's head.

“Later?” Prompto could feel the anxiety bubbling up again. He needed a break here. “You go first.”

“Mh. 'kay. Not really happier than yours, I'm afraid, but that recurring thing in my head is that I'm caught, locked up in a tiny room, too tiny to turn around or even move properly, and it's dark as in Titan's butthole. I know I have been there a while, and my fingers hurt, 'cause I tried clawing my way out and the nails broke, and I know I'm supposed to be dead, and...” The boy shivered, held on to the blond to steady himself. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It's alright.” A kiss on the cheek instead of a rebuttal. “Any idea where that one comes from? You don't have to tell.”

“In a way, I guess, even though that's not totally how things went down.” A heavy sigh. “World's a fucked up place sometimes, but you probably know that.”

“Yeah, I think I know a thing or two about that.” He held on a little tighter. “And you need to deal somehow, so you just go and start cutting yourself off bit by bit, and before you know it...”

“You get a bit... _weird_. Yeah. And it's really awesome you're doing this whole therapy-thing, you know? Like, really. Couldn't even imagine where to start with that.” His hands absent-mindedly ran over Prompto's back, following the seams of his jacket.

Prompto laughed. It wasn't funny, but then again... “I've got a lot of stuff but.. I have this one thing going on that's more or less screaming, 'Here, here! Pick me! Start here!' So... that _helps_.”

“That's awfully nice of that thing?” A helpless laugh.

“Yeah, totally. Otherwise I'd have to talk about...” He shook his head. “Sorry. I just...” A sigh. “Sorry.”

“About?”

Prompto shivered. “I was just about to... I don't want to...” He bit his lip and inhaled slowly. Exhaled even more so. His toes were a little cold, he was wearing boots, and he had to slightly balance out against the uneven cobblestone. It was going to be fine, this would pass, no need to freak out.

The boy's arms closed around him, held him upright. "Hey, hey, it's fine, nothing will happen, promise. Just a bit too much of everything right now?"

“I got this... I got this, I just need a moment.” Another deep breath, then, half snorting, “Now you know why there's a couch. Fuck.”

Rosham dragged him down to sit on his lap, holding him close to his chest like a kid. “Sssh, it's okay. I'm a shabby couch, I know.“

“And I'm too drunk for three beers.” Prompto let his head sink back against his chest. “Bones on bones, it's a miracle we're not fucking stabbing each other. Gods.”

“Will be a mess when we get up. Like wool in a basket with kittens. Bone wool.“ He giggled. “Now that's an icky image.“

“Yuck.” Another deep breath. “I could get used to this, anyway.”

“Mhm...“ Rosham's nose was buried in the blond hair, and he sighed languorously.

“I hate to say it, but we gotta get up at _some_ point.” Prompto made no attempt to move, or even open his eyes. He giggled. “So much for partying.”

“Mhm. When the sun comes up or something. Then I'll bring you home,” the boy mumbled, completely unwilling to open his eyes or move his head from the golden wheat it was buried in.

Prom grinned. “Yeah, alright. I'll wake you up.”

***

Somewhere else, in a discreet little place where the darkness was almost tangible, a man with gray hair entered the bar, looking for someone. Finding him in the darkest corner, leaning over a glass of whisky, the winter-blue eyes closed. Thinking, or dreaming, he could not say. The doctor looked at the callused hands that were closed around the glass like the key to the golden gates of salvation and took a deep breath. Approached him, quietly. Laid one of his hands upon the callused ones, thinking for a split second how much blood it had spilled.

“Mind if I sit with you, Mister Leonis? I don't want to disturb you.”

The marshal's eyes flew open, pupils tiny. His hand twitched for a second, then he recognized the man in front of him.

“Doctor...Medela?” Yeah, that was his name. It was not his enemy. Neither a dead man walking.

“Calidus, if you don't mind. It's long after I've called it a day.” He smiled, and still his hand was upon Cor's, soft and warm. “May I?”

“Sure.” Don't ask him if the boy talked to him. He wouldn't dare. Shit. Of course he would. He would think this was a really good and romantic idea. But why was the man here, then? Wait til he sits. Wait til he has his drink. The soft fingers still on his own, his thumb making its path over their skin all by itself. The doctor smiling. _Shit. Don't ask._

“Did the boy talk to you?”

The smile growing wider. “I do not talk about my patients, Mister Leonis, you'll have to understand.”

“Marshal.” _Shit._ “No. Cor will do.”

“Cor it is, then.” The gentle hand closed tighter around his own. “I came to make you an offer, Cor. It is a rather... complex one.”

Cor nodded. He would not claim to understand what was going on here, not truly, but the knot in his stomach and the heat in his groin were rather clear in their decision that listening was a good idea.

“We have our drinks. Then you come with me. I will not fuck you tonight, but you will spend the night in my arms. When you have sobered up, we will talk about possibilities we both might enjoy. Is this understood, soldier?”

“Is it... that obvious?” He tried to smile, but it turned out as a grimace of desperation.

“No. I'm just full of hope.” The gentle green eyes had become the center of Cor's off-kilter world, and this time he managed a smile, and a nod, even though something inside him wanted to scream.

“Cheers,” the doctor said.


	28. In which waking up is difficult

"Hey there, sleepyhead..."

The combined warmth of blanket and boy made it quite hard to get up. Prompto was still half asleep, and not sure how they had managed to get home, but if a rat king managed, they could, too. Rosham's slender body was wrapped around him, still holding him, and he felt the morning wood poke hard against his spine. Prompto really woke up then, and blinked, and immediately tensed up. His dreams had been cramped spaces and confusion, and now, as much as he loved the warmth and the cuddling, being held this tight wasn't ideal. Having to deal with someone else's boner this early in the morning was even less ideal. 

"Somebody's knocking..." the boy mumbled, not even trying to let him go. The knock on the door was a good chance to escape, really.

"Rosh." That came out a little strangled. "Let go."  
  
"Mh? Oh. Okay." The appendages were drawn back, taking their weight and a part of the blanket with them.  
  
He rolled off the futon and staggered to his feet, still a little drunk with sleep, and thrown off kilter by a hangover he was now starting to notice. He was still dressed, only the jacket shrugged off and shoes kicked somewhere into a corner. "I'm up, I'm up!"

He stumbled to the door, almost tripping over the discarded clothes, and opened it a bit. Nobody was there, except for a tray with coffee and light breakfast. Weskham being _considerate_ , probably, not willing to disturb.

"Thanks," Prompto said anyway, in case the man was still in earshot. He pulled the tray inside and brought it over to the futon. Sat back down there. Sighed. "Morning. Coffee?"

Rosham pulled himself together, sitting crosslegged, blanket like a cape over his shoulders. He still was in shirt and boxers. _Decent_. All across his legs a pattern of old scars, pale and raised from the skin. Whatever caused them must have cut deep into the flesh. "Coffee!" he agreed happily.  
  
When both of them had a full mug in hand, Prompto smiled at Rosham. "Slept okay?"

"I occupied all the space, didn't I? Sorry. Not used to actually sharing a bed."

"You _are_ a bit of a limpet, but it's fine." He grinned.

"How's your head doing? You were a wee bit drunk yesterday." The boy sipped the hot liquid, obviously still working on the 'waking up' problem.  
  
"My headache is as mild as my regrets." Prompto smiled and sipped his coffee. "Yesterday was good. Except for the bit where my meds almost knocked me out. It's not the poor beer's fault."

"You were having nightmares, right? Because you were talking in your sleep, and you surely didn't sound too happy." He stretched his legs, then stuck his feet under Prom's thigh to keep them warm.  
  
"Don't worry about it. Did I wake you up?"

"You kinda hit me. Not too bad, at least." He leaned forward, putting his hands around Prom's ankle. "Who is this Ardyn-person and how shall I hurt him?"

In less than five seconds, all color drained from his face. "He's... he..." He pulled his ankle back. "Can we not? Please?"

"Shit." Hands raised, eyes huge. "Forget I ever said anything, okay? I meant... armwrestling! Yes! That's something you're into?" He raised his arm, flexing his nonexistent muscles.

The damage was done, though. Prompto was feeling sick, and feeling sick was in the way of eating breakfast, which was difficult enough, and if he didn't eat, he couldn't take his meds, and if he didn't take those, he might as well lie down and pull the blanket back over his head, because he'd have fucked it all up within the first week. Blindsided by just the _name_. "Fuck."

He closed his eyes for a moment. _Breathe. Slowly_.

The boy let him be, at least for some time. Got up. Put aside the tray. Sat down own the floor. Waited.

Waited.

"Shall I call somebody?" he asked after a while, his voice low.

Rosham, Prompto was sure, was not equipped to deal with this, and not close enough to him yet, either, not really. Weskham had already brought up breakfast, and quite honestly, he didn't want to crash in front of him _again_. Calling Cor over something as petty as a panic attack was blowing things out of proportion. It wasn't the meds, so the Doc was out, and Feyna... They'd been over this half a dozen times. In theory, Prompto knew what to do. He shook his head. "Sorry."  
  
“Hand to hold?“ The boy stretched out his.

After a moment of hesitation, he took it, and held on a little too tight, trembling. Maybe this was enough. Maybe he could just sit it out like that.

"Shall I tell you a story? A funny one?"

A nod. "Talking is good, yeah..." Didn't really matter what about.

"I once met a God, you know? I was a rather small one, forgettable, but quite fluffy, and it said 'Boy,' it said, 'the way you're living is...'" And Rosham kept on talking, kept on telling a story that Prompto almost remembered, and his voice was gentle and soft like the touch of his hands. As his pulse and breathing calmed down, he felt himself drifting off, didn't try to fight it.

Prompto slept, and Prompto dreamt.

_He walks across a field, all muddy earth, blades of grass pushing through here and there, between lumps of snow that has yet to melt. It's cold, but there is spring in the air. There is something small walking next to him, until it jumps ahead, again and again, always just far enough to look at him without forcing him to stop in his tracks. A tiny thing, white with huge ears and white fur. It might have been a fox if it wasn't for the horn on its head._

_It doesn't speak, but he gets the meaning all the same:_ Keep walking, and all will be well. Do _not_ look back.

_He knows, he remembers he's leaving a white town filled with columns and flowers and death, and that there is a man walking at his side, slightly behind him, shrouding every step he takes, and the man tells him things he does not want to hear, truths about liars and traitors. The fox creature walks ahead._

Keep your eyes on me. Don't look back. You'll be alright.

 _He listens. The alternative is unthinkable, a vague echo in the back of his mind._ (This is wrong...) _For now he does not want to know why. It is better that way._

 _It is beautiful here. Light and airy and fragrant, and the things the shadow tells him are so terribly plausible and about a prophecy, the prophecy, and he is talking about Noctis and tainted blood._ _He shouldn't know any of this, but it's all achingly familiar. The beauty of the place is offset by the words in his ears, and the knowledge that there will be a temple in a moment, a knife, and a scream._

Just walk. Eyes on me. It will be alright. What will be done must be done. It is nobody's fault. Not that of any mortal. It is somebody's fault. Not that of any mortal. Remember. It is not your fault.


	29. In which Weskham needs to sit

"Prom said he'd show up to his shift." Iris sat down at the bar. She didn't sound like she believed it.

"And what do you think of _him_?" Wesk was fixing coffee. Flat white. It was too early for proper drinks.

"I don't know. He has an awful music taste," Iris replied with a shrug. "I _think_ I get what Prom sees there? Not sure it's all that great, though."

"I won't say this to the boy, but... how old do _you_ think he is?"

"Um, let's say calling Prompto 'boy' while talking about his date is missing the point a bit. Younger than me."

Patches meanwhile had noticed there was an _acceptable_ two-leg-beast and came to get a proper greeting. He had managed to get fat, at least by his standards, but still only looked like some-kind-of-dog. "Think Prom just doesn't want to see?"

"Maybe. You think this is why he doesn't sleep with him?"

"He _doesn't_?" Weskham seemed to be taken aback by this idea. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure." She nodded. "I mean, they haven't _tonight_ , and as far as good opportunities go..."

"This kid," the barkeep said, and the dog woofed in agreement. "He's hellbent on another unhappy affair, isn't he?"

Iris shrugged. "Don't tell him I said that," she said, "but he wouldn't know what to do with a _decent_ boyfriend. I mean I had this _huge_ crush on Noct, but even I could see that he wasn't really... you know..."

"Boyfriend material? More than..." By his looks he sent a short excuse to Regis, whereever he was, "vaguely interested in other humans?"

She nodded. "And Prom is... Prom."

"How do you know about the kid's taste in music, anyway?" It was either changing the topic or getting a drink.

"We talked a bit while Prom, uh, took a nap. He made a [mixtape](https://open.spotify.com/user/stupidonionman/playlist/1bNyKABxrhAsS8l3ND2B42)." She rolled her eyes.

"Is that _cool_ again these days? Was for weirdos when I was that age."

"It's on that _very_ thin line between really cool and really weird."

"Leaning towards...?"

"Weird," Iris said, and added a firm nod. "He thinks he's cool but he's just weird."

"Shiva's tits," he sighed. "What did I do to have the same kind of idiot with two different haircuts under my roof? Can you tell me?"

"You let them in?"

He started polishing his monocle, happy to have something to focus on. "How could I not have?"

Iris smiled. "See," she said, "that's what I mean."

"And you? I have too much of an idea about the marshal to even ask."

She kept smiling, a little stiffer now, spine straight. Weskham was the first one who had actually _asked_ her. He would get an answer.  "Sexually abused by an older man when I was fifteen," she said, much too firmly and calmly, "and a family that taught me to bottle stuff like that up like a good soldier."

He did not spit his coffee. Would have been a shame. It was good coffee. "So _that_ was the thing Cor was so much avoiding to put in terms I could understand. Okay. Just a sec." He did something rare and _sat down_. "Have you seen somebody about it?" He needed a few moments to gather himself.

"Bottle it up like a good soldier," she repeated, answering the question. "And you're the first one who actually asks. I think Gladio knows. It's how he looked at me in the year after. Still does, sometimes."

"I'm a bit out of my waters here." A deep breath. "Shall I see if I can get an appointment with a doctor for you first, probably female?"

The smile started to crack a little. "Someone who knows how to work with military. That matters more than whether it's a man or a woman, at this point."

“I honestly try to avoid those, but I can see if I know somebody who knows somebody, if second hand is good enough for you.“  
  
Iris nodded. "It'll have to do. Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mixtape, playlist, all the same:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/stupidonionman/playlist/1bNyKABxrhAsS8l3ND2B42


	30. In which Cor finds kindness

They spent the evening on the doctor's couch, and Cor mumbled that he always had tried to avoid those, but then Medela reminded him he was not that kind of doctor and opened a bottle of wine, and they had watched a movie, an actual movie, because the doctor was kind of a collector. It had been a movie about a boy lost in a war, and it hit the marshal right in his drunken heart, and he cried, and realized he was crying and got angry, telling Medela off for doing this with full intent, but the doctor smiled and kissed his tears away, and then things got a bit out of hand.

Cor remembered having Calidus on the floor, his arm in a lock, rubbing against him, and Calidus telling him to stop, so very gently, and he just did, and the doctor had called him my little soldierboy, and...

Calidus did not fuck him that night, keeping his promise.

***

The Immortal woke with a headache and the slight feeling he messed up. Whose bed was this? Right. Calidus. Merciful. Had not thrown him out, even though he... well _shit_. He _did_ mess up. His memory was rather vague, but what he remembered wasn't too much in his favour. He turned around groaning, unwilling to open his eyes. Had he called him my King? Gods. If they had any mercy, they'd kill him right now to spare him the embarressment, but as usual, there was no mercy to be found in them. A gentle kiss upon his brow.

“Coffee?” someone asked, his voice pleasantly low. Cor nodded slowly. He still was dreaming, only that his dreams never were this way. Shit.

There was coffee, and there was an IV with an electrolytic solution, because Calidus very much had the opinion that Cor's hangover was the fault of the things he served them, so he might as well make it as bearable as possible. “A _proper_ doctor, as I said.” He smiled when he put the needle in Cor's vein, and something in the marshal was so deeply horrified he wanted to flee, but the gentle green eyes assured him that things would be _alright_ , and he had been correct. Things got better.

Later, he had taken him under his shower to clean him up. A washroom clad in black marble and sleek silver, way more luxurious then everything he was used to, and he had lathered him in soap and cleaned him thoroughly. “Hands against the wall boy, and spread your legs,” and Cor had followed his order with a slight smile and high anticipations, and when the doctor pushed into him, slick skin against slick skin and hot water over their bodies, it felt so strange and different that he started laughing in utter delight, coming quick and hard and crying again under the shower, sheer relief washing over him, and Calidus held tight.


	31. In which Iris speaks her mind

Months came and went, as did Prompto's motivation. A good day here, a bad one there. Patches stuck closer to him, and as much as he loved his friends, that old dog kept him going more than anything else. Animals were simple. A text to Rosham, a call, but no new date. He knew something was off, but he couldn't let it go, wanted it all to be true. He worked at the restaurant, unless he didn't, he talked to Feyna, unless he didn't, went off these meds, tried out those. The days and weeks were blurring together again. He tried, but in the end?

Nothing changed.

***

"Morning. I'm going to the gym, and you are coming with me."

Prompto blinked. "Uh, my shift starts in five and..."

Iris grinned at him. "Already talked to Wesk. You're coming with me."

"Look, I'm not all that sure this is a good idea. I'm..."

"Cor is busy with his new _boyfriend_." She rolled her eyes. "Come on, you're free as bird, and easy enough to throw around."

"...hey, watch it!"

"You're a toothpick."

"Am not!" Prompto put the apron back down amd crossed his arms. Yes, sure, this was childish, but their arguments tended to go that way, at least on the surface.

"I could break you like one."

"Oh yeah? We'll see about that."

She could, as she always could when she came in close enough to grab him, and after avoiding training for the better part of the year, he didn't have the agility to avoid that fate.

She went for the knee. Prompto had a few choice words for that, most of them, at that volume and directed at Iris, wouldn't have been healthy for him with Gladio in the room. Iris herself just shrugged. "So?"

"You _know_ it's busted and that fucking hurt!"

"Sure it did. Probably still smarts. Doesn't matter. Stop whining."

"... what?"

"Nobody asks about your knee, or my wrists, or the Marshal's shoulders. Or any joints of pretty much half the Glaive." Iris sat down next to him. "That, and you can walk Patches, and you were about to go through a four hour shift waiting tables. Notice anything?"

"Yes, I know! So? Doesn't make it any less real."

"Nope, but it _does_ make it something that won't get better until you pull your head out of your ass."

Prompto blinked - that sounded enough like her brother to make him stop and roll that sentence through his brain a few more times, trying to connect it to the girl next to him. He kept forgetting that time had passed for her, too. "And you're an expert on that how?"

She pulled her knees close and looked up at him, smiling a more familiar smile now. "I pulled my head out of my ass."


	32. In which Prompto survives

Iris was right, of course, and getting told off by _her_ of all people was a kick in the rear he had been in need of for months now.  
  
"Just pull your head out of your ass" wasn't a plan for everyone, but Prompto knew as well as Iris that it was for him. He used to be good at going through with it, at setting a goal and just pushing on. Four months after finding meds that did the trick, he finally had something like a recognizable sleeping schedule, and being able to concentrate helped with _sticking_ with things, and if he just _stuck_ with things, they would eventually turn back from monstrous obstacles into normal tasks.  
  
"Alright, buddy, you've done this before, you can do it again. This is the plan: Get your shit together." His mirror image nodded along with him. He knocked against the glass. "Good man."  
  
Simple plan. Not easy by far, but simple. Making things overly complicated was part of what had gotten him into this mess.  
  
He started by finding a good place for the dog tag, in a little pouch in the back of a drawer.  
  
The dreams were still there, but they had changed. Whenever things seemed inescapable, the fox creature was there, guiding, soothing, reminding him what all this was. With Feyna's help, he had pieced together a good enough picture of what had happened. Obsessing about the details seemed less and less like a good idea, and carrying a constant reminder around with him didn't feel like the smart thing to do, anymore, either. He was grateful for all Gentiana had done for him in this, but he had to draw the line somewhere.  
  
Food came next, because it had to, if he wanted to do anything else with his life. He messaged Ignis about that, because Ignis had set up the meal plan the last time he had clawed his way back to normal, and because Prom's avoidance of him, too, had to stop. He hadn't done anything, and neither had Gladio, no matter what... he... Ardyn. His name was Ardyn. No matter what Ardyn had wanted him to believe. The sooner that sank in, the better. He needed his brothers.  
  
Strength training was a necessary evil. Most of what he had lost was muscle and ego, and he needed the former if he wanted Iris and Cor to stop wiping the floor with him and regain the latter.  
  
He started making a point of showing up to appointments and shifts instead of excusing himself. People reacted by making a point of treating him less like... well, a cactuar.  
  
He stopped calling Rosham.  
  
***  
  
"I'm surprised he just let it go." Prompto sat on the floor today, Patches' head in his lap. It was easier to talk with the dog to focus on, sometimes.  
  
Feyna nodded. "Do you want to tell my why?"  
  
"Because Rosham wasn't real, and if there is one thing I've learnt, it's that Ardyn never lets anything just go."  
  
***  
  
He still woke up aching sometimes, his body fighting him all the way to the bathroom and out the door and up the hills. He fought back, and the more often he did, the more often he won.  
  
For a while, this was how things stayed. Eat, walk, train, work, therapy, sleep. It was simple, repetitive, and in the beginning, exhausting. It was also as far away from the pity party his life had turned into as he could possibly get, and the best Prompto had felt in years.  
  
A few weeks down the line, he fit back into his old clothes. That was what he had planned, and what he wanted. A few months down the line, his sweaters were getting a little tight in the shoulders. He knew that was _good_ , it meant he was _stronger_. Prompto still panicked.  
  
A message to Gladio was all it took, a flexing selfie with a quip, and Gladio called back as if they still talked every day, drowned the fear in instructions on how to do make a _decent_ muscle selfie, training advice, jokes, banter. He didn't have to explain.  
  
Looking into the mirror was easier for it, accepting that his face, too, had become softer. His chin looked a little weird with the slight roundness, he decided, but he could deal with that easily enough.  
  
He started calling Ignis, for more than just quick requests and updates on seasoning that Prompto had forgotten to send his way - just to talk. The third time he did, the floodgates broke. On the phone, there was no smell to push his thoughts into the abyss, and it was just his friend, just Ignis, just the only person who possibly missed Noctis more than he did. _I was scared of you. I'm sorry. I was hurt. I still am. I'm getting_ _there_ , and finally, _I think I can live without him._

Prompto only knew it was true when he heard himself say it. He still missed Noct, missed him so, so much, but he had now longer been without him than they had ever been together, and he was still alive.  
  
He was still alive.


	33. In which things don't end

When he turned twenty-five, he found a gift on his doorstep, not wrapped, with a brief note on the side. It was a cup, much like the ones Weskham used down at the restaurant. This one had once broken into a dozen irregular pieces. The tears were still obvious, no attempt had been made to disguise them. Golden laquer filled the cracks, shone bright in the lamplight as he turned the object in his hands.  
  
A beautiful mess. An artwork of precious scars.  
  
Prompto read the note and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's still around - sorry for the wait. It's been one hell of a ride, and you were great. Thank you <3


End file.
